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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582956">Learn Me Right</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouiser_boudreaux/pseuds/ouiser_boudreaux'>ouiser_boudreaux</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Arcana (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Slow Burn, i'm writing this for me but decided to share it, this makes sense in my corner of tumblr</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:28:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>43,750</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28582956</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ouiser_boudreaux/pseuds/ouiser_boudreaux</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Beatrice Viano has a quiet life. A happy life. She has her work, her aunt, her friends. Everything is just as she hoped it would be.</p><p>So when a handsome stranger quite literally knocks her off her feet, she's not sure what to do about this new development. Certainly not get excited over it. That would be absurd.</p><p>*</p><p>Calum McPhee is ready to experience everything he possibly can. He and his twin sister Grier are finally leaving their small mountain town, crossing the ocean and heading to Vesuvia. He's ready to LIVE, dammit.</p><p>But when the first friends they make in Vesuvia are more than they appear, and secrets bubble to the surface, he starts to wonder if this is what he truly wanted. What's more, he discovers that there IS something (or someone) he wants, and he doesn't know if he should.</p><p>---</p><p>thank you to @hazyfog for the lovely Beatrice</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The First Sign Of Morning</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazyfog/gifts">hazyfog</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Beatrice Viano loved the early morning.</p><p class="p1">She always woke with the dawn, turning her face to the soft gray light through her window, like a wildflower turning to the east. She allowed herself the small luxury of a few quiet minutes, watching the light grow. Blinking away the sleep from her eyes and taking some deep breaths. And then, she rose.</p><p class="p1">She poured a few drops of eau de violette into the basin of water on her bedside table, breathing in the scent, and began her daily ablutions. The dim light grew stronger and brighter as she ran a coarsely-bristled brush through her long honey-brown waves, dabbed water on her face, and tugged her nightgown up over her head.</p><p class="p1">Dressing was always a simple affair: her cleanest linen chemise, a belted tunic - purple today, she decided, though choosing anything other than purple was a rarity for her - and woolen stockings to ward against the chill beginning to set in with the arrival of autumn. She knelt to lace up her boots, stroking the top of Bramble’s silky head as she did so, and when she stood again, her bedroom was almost fully visible now in the morning light.</p><p class="p1">Downstairs was still quiet. Even her Aunt Cora took the opportunity to sleep in on a Saturday, without the school to tend to. Beatrice checked and rechecked the bread box, the butter dish, and the tea tin, to make sure that her aunt was well-supplied for breakfast before she left for the day. l’Étoile d’Or was such a long way away, tucked in the city center as it was, and she would hate for Cora to have to come looking for her.</p><p class="p1">But as always, her aunt was taken care of, and she could rest easy for a few hours more.</p><p class="p1">With a sigh and a smile, Beatrice took her green cloak from its hook by the door and was on her way, with her rabbit familiar close behind.</p><p class="p1">The streets of Vesuvia were still sleepy, still quiet, and this, too, she relished. She could walk without interruption and listen to the sounds that went unnoticed and unheard when people were milling about, talking and haggling and greeting and arguing and doing what it is that people do. She wasn’t opposed to people, as a concept, as a whole, but now… in this moment, she was simply Beatrice, simply alone.</p><p class="p1">Thick fog had rolled in overnight, blanketing the cobblestoned streets of Goldgrave, giving this particular morning an air of mystery that made Beatrice shiver and draw her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Bramble was following her, whisper-quiet, and the pair of them passed through the mist like ghosts, past the darkened halls of the community theater, through an alley that was Beatrice’s best-kept secret shortcut, skirting the edge of the docks, ever-closer to the shop that was their destination.</p><p class="p1">As she approached the docks, she could hear voices and creaks and groans and thuds, a gentle hum and hubbub of workers and travelers, loading and unloading the ships that had come to port. Her peace was coming to its end.</p><p class="p1">She didn’t know just how disturbed her peace would soon be.</p><p class="p1">A reed-thin teenager whooshed by her on light feet, so quickly that Beatrice was nearly knocked over as they passed, and she pulled her cloak even closer. “Bramble?” She looked down to make sure her tawny-furred companion hadn’t been trampled, searching at the edge of a pile of stuffed-full grain sacks at the mouth of a warehouse.</p><p class="p1">“Stop!”</p><p class="p1">This time, Beatrice actually <em>was</em> knocked off her feet, as someone chasing the sprinting figure from before barreled by and clipped her with his shoulder. She landed with a none-too-genteel “oof!” She was flat on her back, her fall thankfully broken by the sacks of grain she’d just been nudging with the toe of her boot, but the wind had been knocked out of her and all she could see above her was blue sky.</p><p class="p1">Then, the blue sky was replaced by a pair of concerned, sky-blue eyes.</p><p class="p1">She blinked. “I’m so sorry,” she finally managed to wheeze out.</p><p class="p1">She felt a pair of strong, slim-fingered hands grasp her wrists. “Don’t apologize.” The voice that belonged to those hands and those eyes was deep, but soft, with a lilting accent that Beatrice hadn’t heard often in Vesuvia. “Let’s get you up, now.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice let the stranger hoist her back up to standing, and when she was finished brushing at her skirts and shoving her hair out of her face, she raised her eyes to thank him. But when she got a good look at his face, the words caught in her throat.</p><p class="p1">If his voice had been lovely, his face was… <em>gods.</em></p><p class="p1">She blinked and did her best to not gawp, open-mouthed, at the man before her. His features were so fine, and yet so… so strong? It was a fascinating dichotomy. She could have stared for hours at the line of his broad shoulders, if given the chance. Or the curve of his jaw. Or the slight lopsided tilt of his lips. Or those bright blue eyes that were now trained on her with amusement, beneath dark, peaked brows.</p><p class="p1">“Are you all right?”</p><p class="p1">There was that soft burr in his voice, again. Beatrice blinked, momentarily distracted by the stranger’s curly black hair and the white streak that swept up from the right side of his hairline. “I’m fine, thank you.” She felt a nudge at her feet, and looked down to see Bramble staring up at her, nose twitching and eyes curious. “Oh! There you are.”</p><p class="p1">“Well, if you’re all right…” The stranger ran a hand through his hair. “I’m so sorry. Got a thief to catch.” And with that, he turned on his heel and fled.</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">It wasn’t often that Beatrice was so flummoxed by a stranger. Even a handsome stranger. But as her feet carried her along the familiar path from the docks to the magic shop at the city center, all she could hear was that voice.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Don’t apologize.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Are you all right?</em>
</p><p class="p1">Those eyes. They were… they were so <em>blue.</em> She thought she’d seen blue eyes before - she’d seen blue eyes aplenty - but these eyes? She looked up at the sky and it was like a mirror to her thoughts, and she blinked and looked back down at the stones beneath her feet.</p><p class="p1">And that streak of white at the front of those black curls…</p><p class="p1">This was absurd. He was a stranger, and he’d gone running down a side street without a second glance backward, and she was certainly <em>not</em> the type to lose her head over every pretty face that passed her in the street. She wouldn’t have a head on her shoulders if she did that, so full Vesuvia was of pretty faces.</p><p class="p1">And yet…</p><p class="p1">Beatrice didn’t realize she’d arrived at l’Étoile d’Or until she was at the shop’s doorstep, so deep in thought she’d been for the rest of her walk. In fact, she hadn’t fully snapped out of her reverie until she was jolted forth from it by the sound of loud, tuneless, insistent warbling from the upstairs window of the building.</p><p class="p1">She didn’t even have to knock on the door before it swung open, and the harried shopkeep - her friend, her confidante, and on the weekends, her boss - was there to greet her. Beatrice cast a bewildered stare on the petite brunette, who looked ready to commit murder.</p><p class="p1">“Oh thank the <em>gods</em>,” Vissenta said. She jabbed a finger upwards in violent gesture to the living quarters above the shop. “If I have to listen to <em>this</em> for one more minute I am going to <em>scream</em>.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiled and shook her head. “Vissenta, he’s not that bad.”</p><p class="p1">“Well then <em>you</em> can stay and listen to him sing his shanties all morning.” Vissenta crossed her arms, a monumental task these days, with the way her belly had grown six months into her pregnancy. “I need pumpkin bread, and I need it <em>now.</em>”</p><p class="p1">At this, Beatrice tilted her head, a small frown beginning in the lines on her forehead. “But what if there are customers?”</p><p class="p1">Shouldering her way past her part-time assistant, Vissenta took her ring of keys from her low-slung belt and grimaced. “If anyone walks by and hears Julian singing and <em>wants</em> to enter this godsforsaken establishment, I’m not sure I want them as a customer.” The door properly locked behind her, she slipped her hand into the crook of Beatrice’s elbow. “Shall we?”</p><p class="p1">The two strolled to the market square at a leisurely pace, even as Vissenta insisted that she could walk just as briskly as she always had. “You should see me run up and down those stairs,” she grumbled. “Day in and day out. Don’t know why I even put a storeroom up there.”</p><p class="p1">“I’ve told you that I can help move it all down,” Beatrice said gently. “Julian has even offered. Vissenta, <em>everyone</em> has offered.”</p><p class="p1">Vissenta blew out an annoyed “hrmph” through her nostrils. “And ruin the way I’ve organized everything? Absolutely not.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice couldn’t help but laugh. “Stubborn as ever.” She reached into the pocket of her cloak and pulled out a folded sheet of parchment. “Do you mind if we look for a few herbs this morning? I’ve been thinking about this recipe for days now, and Cora had a few suggestions.”</p><p class="p1">Vissenta peered at the writing, all in Beatrice’s precise, elegant hand, where even the corrections were done neatly, with thin lines and cross-marks and delicate arrows to diagram the changes she’d made. “Einkorn wheat? I thought we were making breastmilk replacement, not porridge.”</p><p class="p1">“I have some ideas that involve…” Beatrice waved her hand, looking for the words. “It’s in the water. The way I can charge it.” She pointed at the sheet. “There are a few herbs listed here that I know the shop is low on, as well. And they might help in the casting, and then the brewing and steeping.”</p><p class="p1">For the first time that morning, Vissenta smiled, and smiled warmly. “You’re a gem,” she said to Beatrice, her fingers squeezing the younger woman’s forearm. “Ask any apothecarist in this city to help me figure this out and they all want to know why I won’t feed my baby properly.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice folded the parchment and tucked it back into her cloak. “There is no ‘proper’ way, unless it’s to make sure your baby is fed.” She squeezed Vissenta’s hand in return. “And any apothecarist who tells you otherwise shall have to go through me first.”</p><p class="p1">Soon, they arrived at Selasi’s bakery at the edge of the square. They emerged with a warm loaf of pumpkin bread to share, only to see that a crowd had begun to gather. It was an unusual crowd, even for a Saturday, growing to a size usually only seen during Masquerade week, or for a royal proclamation. And what’s more, this crowd was excited about something, humming and shifting, all around something at the fountain at the epicenter.</p><p class="p1">“Oh, curse being so… so short!” Beatrice tried to stand on tiptoe to see over the heads surrounding the fountain, to no avail.</p><p class="p1">Vissenta raised her eyebrows. “Allow me.” She pressed her palms against her lower back, throwing her shoulders backwards and shoving her belly as far out as she possibly could, and began an exaggerated waddle that was nothing at all like how she usually walked. “Pregnant lady!” She sighed and shifted forward, and as if by magic, the crowd began to part around her. “Excuse me! Excuse me! Lady with a baby, coming through!”</p><p class="p1">Shaking her head, Beatrice followed as closely behind Vissenta as she could manage, careful to not let the crowd envelop the other woman, lest she lose her entirely. Vissenta was waddling and moaning all the while, occasionally throwing a sharp elbow at anyone who didn’t move quickly enough, and Beatrice’s urge to apologize profusely was at deep, deep odds with her urge to burst into laughter. <em>Never a dull moment with Vissenta Devorak</em>.</p><p class="p1">Finally, they spotted what had drawn such a crowd to the square. Well, first, they <em>heard</em> what had drawn the crowd.</p><p class="p1">It was music.</p><p class="p1">This wasn’t just any music, though. Buskers weren’t uncommon in the city center, and Beatrice liked to wander about and listen to them on a day when she felt like she could afford to be leisurely, which wasn’t often. But this music was something new. It was something unusual. It was something a little wild, a melody plucked out on strings unlike the lutes and vielles so common in Vesuvia, accompanied by a strong, bright voice, and the driving beat of a drum.</p><p class="p1">The young woman who was singing was a sight to behold, when Beatrice and Vissenta finally broke through to the front of the crowd. She was in a pale green homespun dress, and her black curls were flying as she played and sang and tapped her toes, which Beatrice could see were bare. The young woman’s worn old boots were next to an open instrument case, and as she played and stomped and sang, the case was quickly filling with coppers.</p><p class="p1">But soon, Beatrice’s attention was drawn away from the singing young woman entirely.</p><p class="p1">Because sitting on the lip of the fountain, smiling wide and tapping his heel and playing a drum unlike any Beatrice had ever seen before, was the young man who’d bowled her over at the docks.</p><p class="p1">She froze, and her grip on Vissenta’s arm must have tightened, because she could faintly hear Vissenta asking her what on earth was the matter. But she couldn’t formulate an answer, because here he was, that handsome stranger, one who had gone running after a thief, and she was very suddenly aware that this must be why he and his companion were playing and singing for coin.</p><p class="p1">She was also very suddenly aware that the handsome stranger’s swinging gaze had landed on her. Her cheeks prickled, and she knew she’d gone pink, and then. <em>And then.</em> He <em>winked</em> at her.</p><p class="p1">Her sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed. Vissenta nudged her shoulder. “Everything all right, Beatrice?”</p><p class="p1">She ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward in a curtain around her face. “I’m fine. Everything is just… splendid.” She held up the loaf of pumpkin bread, helplessly. “Shall we find somewhere to sit and eat?”</p><p class="p1">Vissenta sighed. “Only place to sit is the fountain.” She squinted. “How close do you think we can get?”</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Not close enough.</em>
</p><p class="p1">Beatrice blinked rapidly as the thought crossed her mind. What on <em>earth</em>? She turned her head to look at Vissenta. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”</p><p class="p1">Vissenta huffed. “I am pregnant, and I am insufferable. If anyone tries to tell me I can’t sit down, I think I am allowed to stab them.”</p><p class="p1">“Vissenta,” Beatrice said, patting the other woman’s hand. “You cannot stab everyone who crosses you.”</p><p class="p1">“So say you.” Vissenta tugged on Beatrice’s arm. “Come on. There’s some space right there.” She pointed, and as she pointed, the two musicians brought their song to a close, to raucous applause.</p><p class="p1">Even as the crowd cheered and chanted for more, the young woman demurred, instead sitting down beside her companion - brother, maybe? Beatrice could see a resemblance, in the shape of the nose and the curl of the hair and that same curious white streak, and she told herself that this was a perfectly logical conclusion, and not one born of <em>hoping</em> the two were simply siblings - and resting her stringed instrument in her lap. The crowd began to thin, and to Beatrice’s growing horror, Vissenta was leading them both straight to a spot right next to the mysterious, musical pair.</p><p class="p1">She pulled her cloak tighter. Nothing else for it. With a deep breath, she followed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Careful What You Ask For, Don't Know Til You Try</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Calum McPhee crossed the sea to find adventure, true, but he was starting to think he’d experienced enough adventure for the day, and he hadn’t even had breakfast.</p>
<p class="p1">He lost sight of the thief who’d cut his sister’s coin purse, and he wondered irritably if he should have just let the young woman he’d knocked over stay on the ground. She seemed capable enough of figuring out how to get back up on her own, after all. That minute had cost him, in more ways than one, and now he was going to go back to Grier empty-handed.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>But I couldn’t just leave her on the ground.</em> Ellen McPhee raised him better than that, and besides, the lady had a pretty face, and he would never regret seeing more of those in his lifetime.</p>
<p class="p1">A pretty, heart-shaped face.</p>
<p class="p1">One with hazel eyes that looked almost green, like the green cloak she’d been wearing.</p>
<p class="p1">He shook his head. Plenty of heart-shaped faces and green eyes in his future, if he could manage to avoid getting murdered by his sister for not getting their coin back.</p>
<p class="p1">When he circled back the way he came, slowing down only slightly when he passed the warehouse to find that the pretty face was long since gone, he resolved that he would simply leave out that one detail when he told Grier that he’d lost sight of the cutpurse. This was a strange new city, after all. He couldn’t be expected to know every single back alley and side street.</p>
<p class="p1">His stomach sank at the thought, though. <em>All our money gone.</em> His stomach sank, and then very loudly growled up at him, and he slowed to a walk.</p>
<p class="p1">He found Grier still rooted in place, still clutching her banjolin case and his bodhran, her eyes unfocused and a deep crease between her eyebrows. He stopped, still out of breath, and leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees as he gulped in a lungful of the briny dockside air. “I’m sorry, Rie,” he finally said, looking up at her with a grimace. “I lost them. The money’s all gone.”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier McPhee stood tall, her back straight as the pines of the forests back home, and her gaze sharpened. The firm-set line of her mouth was exactly like their father’s, and when she blinked and looked down at her twin brother, her eyes had taken on the same hard, resolute quality of Duncan McPhee as well. “So.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum straightened his spine and took his bodhran back. He rolled his shoulders and his neck, trying to feel as confident as Grier suddenly looked. “So. What now?”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier nodded once, briskly, and slung her case over her shoulder by its frayed, corded strap. “What do we do best, Cal?”</p>
<p class="p1">He rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed. “Get robbed the minute we step off the boat?”</p>
<p class="p1">His sister rolled her eyes. “I’m being serious, Calum.”</p>
<p class="p1">“So am I.”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier folded her arms and looked around them. The fog was lifting from the docks, burned away by the rising sun, and so too was the quietude of the early morning. The docks of Vesuvia were coming to life, with more passengers disembarking from ships and fishermen loading their hauls and workers humming and singing snatches of songs. She cocked her head. “Listen to that.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum furrowed his brow and turned his head in the direction Grier was staring. “Listen to what?”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier shook her head. “You have no poetry in your soul.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You have plenty enough of that for both of us.” Calum reached for his bodhran tipper, ready to start twirling it around in his fingers, already tired of Grier’s current game of twenty questions. He was ready to <em>move</em>, and if his sister didn’t get to the point soon, he was going to <em>move</em> without her, possibly to figure out the best way to rob someone so they could have something to eat.</p>
<p class="p1">He felt Grier’s hand close over his, stilling the motion of his fingers and the drumstick. “It’s music, Cal.” She nodded at his drum. “We came to play music. Or at least <em>I</em> did.” She frowned. “You did too, didn’t you?”</p>
<p class="p1">Of course he had.</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">He thought of the way his sister had cried when their father told them that they would certainly <em>not</em> be leaving Balochry. He’d wanted to cry, too, but he fled down the slope of the mountain instead, down to </span>
  <span class="s2">Ceothail House, where whiskey flowed free and his fists could fly if he really needed a way to forget. Because he wanted to forget, and he wanted to fight, and he wanted to feel something other than the bone-crushing disappointment of knowing that life on the mountain was the most he’d ever know.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He rubbed at his cheek, right at the spot where the bruise he’d earned that night in the pub had finally faded, and nodded at Grier. “Well, what are we waiting for?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">She flashed him a wide grin, wide enough that the gap at the right side of her top teeth was visible, and gave him a light punch on the shoulder. “There he is!” She turned on her heel. “Let’s go.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Calum snorted and caught Grier’s wrist, bringing her to a halt. “If you’re looking for an audience, you’re going the wrong way.” He jerked his head over his shoulder in the opposite direction. “City center is that way.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He hadn’t gotten a good look at the market square of Vesuvia when he’d sprinted through earlier. He’d only been vaguely aware of the collection of stalls and shopfronts, so focused he’d been on getting his hands back on their money. But now, as he and Grier both walked there - walked, not ran - he noticed so much more.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">There was the <em>smell</em>, to start. The smell of spices, of warm bread coming from ovens, of coffee and tea, and even the scent of the fishmongers’ wares was enough to make his mouth water. He gazed wistfully at a fruit cart, but Grier pulled him along, through the growing throng of people in their brightly-colored clothing, through the sounds of whispers and shouts and haggling and laughing.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">
    <em>Vesuvia.</em>
  </span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Well, he was certainly on an adventure now.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">They stopped at a fountain in the middle of the square, and Grier pointed. “You can sit there, and I can prop open my case here.” She knelt down to slip off her boots and wool socks - one of her idiosyncrasies, one of the things that she’d always done when she played, claiming that she had to feel the ground beneath her in order to truly <em>feel</em> the music, and Calum would deck anyone with his fists if they mocked her for it - and pulled her instrument from its case. She strummed a chord, and that was enough to pique nearby interest, it seemed. She glanced at Calum and grinned. “The Ball Of Kerrymuir?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He could barely contain his laugh. “You know how to draw a crowd, don’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">She laughed, too, and strummed another chord, then began to pick a steady melody. “Oh, four and twenty virgins came down all to impress, and when they left the ball there was four and twenty less!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Hell of an opening song. The small knot around them started hooting, and Calum shook his head as his sister played directly into it all, throwing salacious winks with every new and shocking line. Still, he kept grinning, and kept time.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Grier hadn’t been wrong to choose it, though. She knew exactly how to reel an audience in, and with every shout of the song’s refrain there were more laughs and whistles and, Calum could see, coins landing in her open banjolin case. His heel was bouncing up and down in time now, and he looked out over the crowd to see if maybe he could spot that thief lurking around.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He didn’t spot the thief, but he did spot a heart-shaped face and a pair of hazel-green eyes, and his heartbeat suddenly matched the driving pace of the bawdy reel.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">She’d spotted him, too.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Without a chance to pause and think, because there was never the space for that, when he played, he met her eyes, and he winked.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">She was even prettier when she blushed.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Grier was coming to the end of the song, he knew it, and he drew back on his playing, clicking the tipper on the stone of the fountain’s edge instead, letting the crowd’s rhythmic clapping take his place, and as Grier finished with a triumphant, rapidly-strummed flourish on her banjolin’s strings, he whistled and applauded along with their audience. The pretty, blushing girl was briefly forgotten, and he nudged his sister with his elbow when she collapsed beside him. “Well that got their attention,” he said, laughing all the while.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Breathlessly, Grier beamed. “And we might have enough to buy some breakfast.” She nudged the case shut with her foot without bothering to count the coins. “A couple more like that and we could buy a room for the night.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“That was one of the filthiest songs I’ve ever heard,” came a strange voice from above them. “And I’m married to a man who <em>insists</em> on singing me every sea shanty he knows.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Calum and Grier both looked up to see a petite, but quite pregnant, woman, who was quick to sit down beside them on the fountain’s edge. And behind her…</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The young woman was still blushing, her long light brown waves only somewhat masking her face as she stole another glance at Calum. She bit her lip, then pushed some of that hair behind her ear. “Did you ever catch the thief?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">They were all silent for a moment, with Calum and the blushing woman staring at one another, the pregnant woman staring at her companion, and Grier staring at Calum. Finally, Grier spoke. “Oh, you made a friend this morning?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">The pregnant woman piped up from around a mouthful of bread, which she’d been tearing from a loaf in large chunks. “Beatrice, you didn’t tell me you knew them!”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Beatrice shook her head, now avoiding Calum’s stare, and sat down next to her friend. “We just ran into each other by the docks,” she said, blushing even pinker and flashing Calum a small, embarrassed smile.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Oh, that smile was too much. Calum knew he could make her blush even harder, if given the chance, but strangely, he found that instead he wanted to make her smile at him again. <em>Maybe both at once?</em> He reached over Beatrice’s friend, careful to avoid getting too close to her belly, and held out his hand to Beatrice. “And I never even introduced myself,” he said. “Name’s Calum McPhee.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">She took his hand with hers, wrapping her small, nimble fingers around his, her eyes gone wide, and her smile grew a little wider. “I’m Beatrice Viano.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Yes, he knows that, because he just heard me say it.” Her friend looked at Calum, and then at Beatrice, her eyebrows disappearing beneath her dark bangs.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Oh. <em>Right</em>.” Beatrice went from pink to scarlet and dropped Calum’s hand like it was a hot coal, but the smile hadn’t left her face.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He was still staring at her. Still staring at that smile. And his hand was still hovering, as if she hadn’t already taken it and let go of it.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Her friend snorted, then seized Calum’s hand for herself and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Vissenta. Vissenta Devorak.” She leaned back to look around behind him and nodded at Grier. “So, a thief?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Someone cut my purse and disappeared with it,” Grier said, slowly. She nudged Calum with her knee. “Cal here went running after them, but we’ve had to sing for our supper a little sooner than we thought.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Calum finally tore his eyes away from Beatrice’s face. He shook his head and smiled. “Where’s my manners? Beatrice, Vissenta, this is my twin sister Grier.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“You left your manners up on a shelf in ma’s workshop, apparently,” Grier retorted. She finally bent back down to pull her socks and boots back onto her bare feet. “It was my best coin purse,” she grumbled. “Bought it on last year’s trip to the Macawi market, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, Macawi Port?” Vissenta broke another chunk of bread from the loaf in her hands to pass to Beatrice, and then tore two more and handed them to Calum. “Here, have this, I might be eating for two but this loaf’ll easily feed six.” She winked at him. “Don’t you dare say no to a pregnant lady,” she stage-whispered.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Grier looked reluctant to take the food, but Calum had no such reservations. “Thanks so much, Mrs. Devorak.” He took a bite and nearly groaned. The bread was still warm, and so sweet, bursting with the flavor of spices and what might have been pumpkin, if they had pumpkins here in Vesuvia.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Vissenta laughed. “Don’t you dare call me that. Vissenta’s fine.” She leaned over slightly to watch Grier count the coins. “I’d ask if you two are from Macawi Port, but I haven’t heard your accent before.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Grier finally took a bite of bread, and Calum could tell that she was just as enthralled by the taste as he’d been. She shook her head as she chewed, then swallowed. “Balochry.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Vissenta nodded, then winced and pressed a hand to her belly. “Oof. Beatrice, I think it’s time to head back. Can’t walk around while this one is doing backflips, and I think it’s limbering up.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Beatrice stood, then helped Vissenta stand. She clasped her hands together, looking from Calum to Grier and back to Calum again, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as she blinked and furrowed her eyebrows. Once again, Calum had no idea he was staring at her so intently, until she blushed again and let her hair fall forward.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He wanted to tuck it back behind her ear again. Her face was too pretty to hide.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Finally, Beatrice spoke. “You two simply <em>must</em> come have tea with us,” she said in a rush.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Immediately, Grier began to shake her head. “Oh, no, we don’t want to be any trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“It shan’t be any trouble at all!” Beatrice’s fingers were still knotted together, and she cast a worried glance at Vissenta.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Vissenta raised one eyebrow as she rubbed at the small of her own back. “She’s right. It <em>shan’t</em> be any trouble at all.” She turned, slightly, and cocked her head. “If you’re coming, you better come quick, because I’m leaving with or without you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“We’ll come,” Calum said, ignoring Grier’s elbow in his side. He nudged her foot with his, raising the toe of his boot above the toe of hers, hoping she got the message.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">She must have. “Of course. It’s kind of you.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Beatrice beamed. “You can tell us all about Balochry,” she said.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“And you can tell me where you learned that song,” Vissenta added. “Julian’s going to be beside himself when he hears it.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">As Vissenta and Beatrice led the way, Grier stopped just short of grabbing Calum’s ear and twisting it. She hissed at him instead. “What are you doing?”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“Making friends,” he whispered back. “You should try it sometime.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Grier narrowed her eyes. “Don’t play dumb with me, Calum Alexander.” She gave Beatrice’s back a pointed stare. “We better still be friends with them tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">Calum raised his hand. “Cross my heart. Swear it on our dear mother’s grave.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“She doesn’t have a grave yet,” Grier muttered. “But if she knew what you get up to behind the pub she might wish she did.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">“I promise, Rie.” Calum dipped his head to meet her eyes. “We’re making friends. That’s all.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">After a beat, Grier nodded. “Good.”</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">He wasn’t lying to his sister. He wanted to do this properly, wanted to find some friendly faces in this strange new place, wanted to have the <em>fun</em> sort of adventure, the one he’d been looking for when they said goodbye to Balochry two weeks ago.</span>
</p>
<p class="p2">
  <span class="s2">But Calum would be lying if he said he didn’t want to see Beatrice Viano smile at him some more.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>With just a small edit (as Inverness doesn't exactly exist in this universe), the song Grier starts singing to catch the crowd's ear is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q5ky7Fs6ng0&amp;feature=youtu.be&amp;ab_channel=LauraMorris">The Ball Of Kerrymuir</a>. It's filthy. It's amazing. Enjoy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Too Easily</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">When the four of them reached l’Étoile d’Or, Beatrice laid a hand on Vissenta’s arm as soon as she saw the door hanging open. “Vissenta…”</p>
<p class="p1">There was no stopping the other magician, though. “Dammit, Julian!” She shoved her few small parcels into Beatrice’s arms and went marching up to the open door, assorted curses in Parlet flying from her mouth in her ire. Beatrice didn’t know all of them, but she certainly recognized a few choice phrases that Vissenta had taught her over the past year of their acquaintance, most notably “son of a bitch” and another <em>very</em> colorful one that invoked brothels and excrement in the same sentence.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice turned to the twins and shrugged. “It’s probably fine.” She took in their confused expressions, suddenly aware that she had no concise way to explain that no one had broken in to the shop, that Vissenta was particular about how her shop was run, and that Vissenta’s husband was still hopeless at effectively running it. She frowned and searched for the right words, but all she could manage was a tilt of her head and a smile. “At least she doesn’t have her athame on her this time.”</p>
<p class="p1">“How many times have I said… oh!” Vissenta’s shouts quieted instantly, and she poked her head back out the door. “Asra’s here!”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice turned back around. “Oh thank goodness,” she murmured, and stepped up on the single stone step that led into the shop.</p>
<p class="p1">Asra was behind the glass-topped counter, idly playing with the astrolabe as Vissenta grumbled and moved around him as best she could. He brightened when he saw Beatrice, but his easy grin turned to a look of mild astonishment when he looked over her shoulder. “Visitors or customers?”</p>
<p class="p1">“New friends,” Beatrice said cheerily, depositing their shopping in her arms onto the counter. She turned again to smile at Calum and Grier, at ease now that she was back on familiar territory, back in a place where she knew the proper steps. “Asra, meet Calum and Grier McPhee.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum was the first of them to move, that easy smile on his face as he extended a hand to Asra, and Beatrice felt her stomach do something very curious indeed. She busied herself with unwrapping the twisted paper bundles that held her latest collection of herbs for the project Vissenta had given her. She still listened, though, to the sound of Calum’s voice as he said hello.</p>
<p class="p1">How was it he could even make saying hello sound so musical?</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s nice to meet you,” he was saying, and Beatrice cast a furtive glance over, holding her breath until she saw Asra take Calum’s hand and smile back. She couldn’t repress her own smile, but she <em>could</em> keep herself busy with preparing tea now that her guests had been properly introduced. She slipped through the curtain to the back room of the shop and fell into the familiar motions of tidying up, clearing away the deep red orb of crystal and burned-down sticks of incense and the ribbon-wrapped deck of tarot cards at the center of the round table that took up most of the room.</p>
<p class="p1">“Did Julian let you in?” By the sound of things, Vissenta had finally stopped moving around, but only just long enough to pick up the astrolabe and move it back to the shelf where it belonged. “Please tell me he didn’t leave the shop unlocked.”</p>
<p class="p1">“He didn’t,” Asra replied. “I let myself in.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta’s suspicion was apparent, even just from the sound of her voice. Beatrice could picture her now, with one eyebrow lifted and her eyes narrowed. “I thought you gave me your key back months ago.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I did.” Asra was picking something up, putting something else down, shuffling and moving about. “So, come to join us for tea?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta huffed loudly. “Oh, now everyone’s coming for tea! Might as well make it lunch!” The words were irritable, but Beatrice could hear the smile beneath them. “We better set the back room table.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’ve already started!” Beatrice sang out from behind the curtain. “Asra, could you put the kettle on?” She hummed happily, setting plates and cups - none matching, but that’s what made it comforting, that’s what made it feel like a home away from home - and stretching up on tiptoe to reach for the sugar bowl on the shelf. <em>Just like Julian to put it up there,</em> she thought, and with a sigh she flexed her fingers, ready to summon up a spell, hoping she wouldn’t overdo it again and send the bowl flying over her head onto the floor.</p>
<p class="p1">“Need a hand?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice froze, still reaching up for the bowl on the shelf, at the sound of Calum’s voice directly behind her. She held her breath, standing stock-still, as one lean-muscled forearm stretched over her shoulder and into her line of vision. She stared, entranced, at his long, slender fingers, the dusting of dark hair along his arm, the way he so easily plucked the bowl from the shelf and brought it down without ever actually <em>touching</em> her, even as she could feel the warmth radiating from him, could practically feel his breath moving her hair.</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>If I turned around right now I’d be one head tilt up from kissing him.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">The thought <em>mortified</em> her, and so she remained still, until she knew he’d stepped back. <em>Perfectly safe to turn around now.</em></p>
<p class="p1">Or so she thought.</p>
<p class="p1">When she did, he was smiling at her, flashing a perfectly straight row of shining white teeth that defied all reasonable expectations. <em>Good heavens, they must have impeccable oral hygiene in Balochry.</em> He tilted his head and quirked his brow and it was then, only then, that she realized he was proffering the sugar bowl.</p>
<p class="p1">Blushing furiously, she snatched it from him. “Thank you,” she mumbled at the space directly above his shoulder.</p>
<p class="p1">He chuckled, then crossed his arms. “Anything else I can help you with?”</p>
<p class="p1">She had a few ideas, and none were considered proper etiquette.</p>
<p class="p1">She shook her head vehemently, letting her hair cover her burning cheeks. “Oh, you’re a guest here! I couldn’t—“</p>
<p class="p1">“What’s all this? Or should I say who?” Julian’s voice carried through all the way from the shop doorway, and Beatrice could have sighed with relief. Julian was always good for carrying on a conversation, and with him to entertain the twins, she could get back to pouring tea and buttering bread and doing anything that wasn’t carrying on a one-on-one conversation with Calum McPhee.</p>
<p class="p1">“New friends for you to scare away,” Vissenta replied, and the curtain parted once more, and soon everyone was crowding into the back room. Beatrice gratefully took the steaming kettle from Asra and started pouring water over leaves in pots, breathing in the scents of black tea and cinnamon, vanilla and violet, all the familiar smells that brought her back to earth. Even the sharp, smoky aroma of the coffee she put into a press for Julian was soothing, and she felt at home once more.</p>
<p class="p1">When she sat the tea tray in the table’s center, Julian was already deep in conversation with Grier. “And <em>what</em> was the next verse of the song?”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier was smiling wickedly. “The one about the village magician? Hm, let me see.” She waved one hand in the air, keeping time, and sang. “The village magician, he was there, he gave us all a laugh, he pulled his foreskin over his head and he vanished up his ass!”</p>
<p class="p1">Julian guffawed. “Asra, is this where you disappear to?”</p>
<p class="p1">Asra rolled his eyes. “Certainly, Ilya.” He tilted his head toward Calum, who was (much to her combined delight and chagrin) seated directly across from Beatrice. “Where <em>did</em> that song come from? I’ve heard all of Ilya’s most questionable shanties and never heard that one before.”</p>
<p class="p1">“That’s what I said!” Vissenta took a cup of milky tea from Julian, who’d prepared her cup as his own coffee continued to steep. “What was the name of your mountain? Ballcocky?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum snorted into his mug as Grier spluttered. “<em>Balochry,</em>” she said, but she was smiling.</p>
<p class="p1">“Right. Balochry.” Vissenta looked up at Julian. “Have you been there? I’ve never heard you mention it.”</p>
<p class="p1">Shaking his head, Julian gently pressed down the plunger on the coffeepot. “It was, ah, a bit out of the way. Closest port of call is Macawi, and, well, you know how things get in Macawi.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You get <em>drunk</em> in Macawi.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, and you’re one to talk!” Julian gently prodded Vissenta’s shoulder. “And besides, there were always the most hair-raising tales of those mountain villages, even down at port.” He shuddered theatrically. “Stories of creatures that live in the wood and steal children, swapping them out for their own, or taking travelers underground for centuries when the poor people thought they’d only been gone for a few days.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Tales for children, all of it,” Calum said, leaning back in his chair and smiling.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice looked up at the sound of Calum’s laugh. She noticed, all of a sudden, that while he was completely at ease, all of the color had drained from Grier’s face. Beatrice tried not to stare too long, lest Grier see her looking and know she’d been caught, and instead stood up in order to refresh the tea in the pots.</p>
<p class="p1">Asra looked toward her. “Should I fetch the salamander?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, I can handle it, it’s no trouble at all.” Beatrice laid her fingertips on the kettle, feeling the residual heat of the water that half-filled it, and concentrated. She didn’t even have to whisper words anymore, so second-nature was the spell by now, and soon, she felt her fingertips begin to burn, and heard the kettle come up to a whistling boil. “There we are.”</p>
<p class="p1">Back at the table, Asra leaned toward her. “How has the infant food been coming along?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh!” Beatrice clapped her hands together. “It’s been so exciting!” She reached into her tunic pocket for the parchment sheet that she’d shown to Vissenta earlier and unfolded it, smoothing it out on the table for Asra to see. “Aunt Cora has helped me with breaking down the parts of the whole, you see, and I <em>believe</em> that with the correct application of percolation, in conjunction with perhaps a simple curavit charm, I could isolate some of these <em>specific</em> nutrients in order to turn virtually any milk into suitable for consumption.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, a curavit <em>with</em> agitation?” Asra leaned over. “I wouldn’t have even thought of that!”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice nodded, grinning. “Now, the real trick is the agitation part.” She folded the paper back into a neat square. “You know I’m hopeless at perpetual motion spells. But with a little practice…” She looked back up in front of her to see Calum watching her, intently, his bright blue eyes wide, a faint smile upon his lips. She bit her lip and felt her face go hot. “…yes?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum’s smile grew wider, and he lifted one shoulder in an easy shrug. “This is the most I’ve heard you say at once, all day.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Well, I…” Beatrice was still flustered. “I didn’t have much to say!”</p>
<p class="p1">“But now that you’ve got her started on her latest project, she’ll never shut up.” Vissenta gave Beatrice a knowing wink, which just made Beatrice want to hide behind her hair again.</p>
<p class="p1">“So,” Julian said, sitting his coffee cup down. “How long are the pair of you staying?”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier blinked, finally brought out of whatever reverie she’d disappeared into. “Oh, just for tea.”</p>
<p class="p1">Julian barked a laugh. “No, no, I mean how long will you be in Vesuvia?”</p>
<p class="p1">“As long as it’ll have us,” Calum replied. His eyes looked like they flickered over to Beatrice again, just for an instant, though she was certain she imagined it. “What’s a decent public house, by the by?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta pushed her chair back and stood up with a groan. “Oh, Ilya, take them to the Raven. I know Barth’s got to have a room or two.” She rubbed her back for a moment, momentarily lost in thought, then nodded briskly at the twins. “You won’t find a better price.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Or a better bar,” Julian added, with a roguish wink.</p>
<p class="p1">“Your eyepatch is still on, love,” Vissenta said. “You look like you’re just blinking.”</p>
<p class="p1">Everyone began to laugh, even Beatrice. She even felt daring enough to look across the table at Calum, and was only a little disappointed that he wasn’t looking at her this time. Still, she was able to see those eyes, and that smile, and the way his ravens-wing curls seemed to have a life of their own, swooping and curving up from his forehead and around his ears and at his nape. And that streak of white at the front. It was so… so <em>intriguing</em>. She wanted to touch it, wind it around her fingers, let her hand rest there as she—</p>
<p class="p1">She blinked. This was <em>ridiculous</em>. She had to find a distraction, and find one soon.</p>
<p class="p1">Soon after, Calum and Grier departed with Julian, and Beatrice began the washing up, Calum’s sky-blue eyes still bright in her mind, in spite of all her best efforts.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">So intent on her work she’d been, Beatrice hadn’t even noticed that the sun was nearly set until Vissenta sat down across the back room table and spread her fingers out over Beatrice’s notes so she couldn’t read them. “Beatrice, honey, you need to go home.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, but I’m nearly there!” Beatrice sat back and rubbed at her eyes. “Just a few more notes, and I might have something for practical application tomorrow.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta raised an eyebrow. “This baby has weeks to keep cooking. You don’t have to reinvent the teat in a day.” She dragged Beatrice’s notes away, despite the latter’s protests. “What did you think of our new friends today?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice coughed, clearing her throat, and tapped her fingers on the table in the empty space where her notes had been. “They were very nice,” she said carefully.</p>
<p class="p1">“Nice <em>looking</em>, too,” Vissenta quipped. She laughed at Beatrice’s mortified expression. “It’s fine to think someone is attractive, you know.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Of course!” Beatrice stood and made a show of stretching. “Goodness, but it is late, isn’t it? You’re right, Vissenta. I should get home before Aunt Cora comes looking for me.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta rolled her eyes. “You can only avoid the subject for so long, you know.”</p>
<p class="p1">With a sigh, Beatrice collected her notes and crossed the room to lift the curtain. “I’d prefer to avoid the subject indefinitely,” she said curtly.</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta followed her to the front room of the shop and stood in the doorway, arms crossed, when Beatrice retrieved her cloak. “All I’m saying,” she said. “You should go home. Relax. Maybe draw a nice, hot bath. Let your mind wander.” There went her eyebrow again, along with a knowing smirk. “Nothing wrong with taking matters into your <em>own hands</em>.” She opened the door. “Now go home before I fire you.”</p>
<p class="p1">With a blush and a stammered goodbye, Beatrice hurried out the door.</p>
<p class="p1">When she opened the door of the modest house she shared with her aunt, adjoining the school they ran in Goldgrave, she was greeted by the soothing smell of vegetable stew. “Oh, Aunt Cora, you didn’t have to trouble yourself!”</p>
<p class="p1">Her aunt sat down at the kitchen table, two full and steaming bowls in hand. “I’m only in my sixties. I’m not infirm, sweeting.” She rapped the smooth-sanded wooden tabletop with her knuckles. “Now, how was your day at the shop?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, wonderful!” Beatrice piled another bowl with freshly-trimmed greens and herbs from the pots in the kitchen windowsill, then sat it on the floor for Bramble. “I think I’ve nearly got the process figured out, and tomorrow I hope to start working with the herbs and ingredients you suggested!”</p>
<p class="p1">Cora smiled. “That’s wonderful news.” She tucked in to her stew, and Beatrice did the same.</p>
<p class="p1">After a few quiet, companionable moments, Beatrice spoke up once more. “And I made some new friends, I think.”</p>
<p class="p1">Cora’s smile was even wider, now. “Oh, that’s <em>truly</em> wonderful news!” She reached over to pat Beatrice’s hand. “You work so hard, my dear. You need to have some fun, once in a while. Be a young woman.” She gave her niece’s fingers a squeeze. “There’s only room for one lonely old biddy in this house, and I’ve earned that right by decades.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice shook her head, but with a smile of her own hiding behind the curtain of her hair. “I’m afraid I’ll have to be an old biddy right now. It was a long day.” She stood, taking her empty bowl and Bramble’s to the washbasin on the countertop. “I might have a nice bath and go to bed early.”</p>
<p class="p1">Cora waved her hand. “Go, go. I’ll be up for a little while longer. Lessons to write and books to read.”</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">She felt rather foolish, sinking into the claw-foot tub, particularly with Vissenta’s words and knowing smirk in mind. Beatrice wasn’t wholly unfamiliar with the concept of… “taking matters into her own hands,” as it were. It was simply not something she made a habit of, something she never felt a need to do more than once in a blue moon. Almost quite literally once in a blue moon, in fact.</p>
<p class="p1">And yet, here she was, contemplating the possibility.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Perhaps it will put an end to it,</em> she mused. <em>Take care of this once and for all, and I shall be able to move on from this infatuation.</em></p>
<p class="p1">After all, she’d only known Calum McPhee for a few hours. Clearly, she was in need of extreme measures, to settle what was <em>clearly</em> an extreme and acute onset of <em>infatuatus. From the root </em>fatuus<em>, for foolish,</em> she mused.</p>
<p class="p1">She leaned back to rest her head against the rolled towel perched at the lip of the tub, then cast a glance at the door to make absolutely certain she’d bolted it behind her. Satisfied that she had reasonable enough privacy, she closed her eyes.</p>
<p class="p1">His hands were the most maddening part of him. If she suspended disbelief for a moment, she could certainly imagine that her small hands were in fact his larger ones, and that they were moving in slow procession along her collarbone, with those long, slender, <em>clever</em>-looking fingers of his maybe tracing a path, down along the curve of her breast…</p>
<p class="p1">Oh, this wasn’t enough.</p>
<p class="p1">But it would have to do.</p>
<p class="p1">She could picture the way he’d look at her, the way he’d smile as he watched her every reaction to the path of his fingers, to the way her nipples would peak beneath his gentle attentions, and how she’d lean in to kiss that crooked smile, and feel the way his stubble brushed her cheek.</p>
<p class="p1">Gods. His stubble. She could suddenly, <em>very</em> vividly imagine how it might feel brushing against <em>other</em> parts of her, down her belly, along her inner thigh.</p>
<p class="p1">Oh, curse it all.</p>
<p class="p1">She reached down further, scraping her nails along the insides of her thighs, wishing it was something else scratching her there, and someone else’s fingers dancing a teasing trail up to her core. When she stroked herself, all she could think of was <em>him</em>, and how <em>he</em> might do it.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d ask her how she’d like him, she knew he would. She could hear the way his voice danced up on the vowels, the notes of some strange language that she knew must lurk beneath the surface, and she suddenly wondered if he might speak to her in whatever that language might be. If it might still sound like music to her ears.</p>
<p class="p1">She couldn’t wait patiently now. With light strokes that became steady, and circling, and insistent, she imagined his hands, his <em>fingers</em>, and gods knew, maybe even his <em>tongue</em>, seeking out the pearl hidden within the curling hair down there, and how he might press a finger or two inside of her as he licked, how her own hands would feel in his hair, twined around that single streak at the front—</p>
<p class="p1">Oh.</p>
<p class="p1">Oh, if <em>only</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">She squeezed her eyes shut, and she imagined, and she touched, and she gasped, and when she came, all she could see behind her eyes was bright sky blue.</p>
<p class="p1">She lay there, in the water, slowly aware that it was growing cool around her, but she was still so warm. She'd be warm for a while, it seemed. And one thing was for certain.</p>
<p class="p1">If she wanted to banish any infatuation, she'd done a terrible job of it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. In The Quiet, In The Crowd</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">“Here we are,” Julian said, proudly waving one arm in the direction of a rather shabby-looking building. He frowned. “Well, it’s, ah, more to look at, once the sun goes down.”</p><p class="p1">Calum looked up at the cracked stone wall before them. <em>The Rowdy Raven</em>, read the sign swinging in the breeze, and when he peered into the open door, he saw all the familiar parts of a tavern that, he supposed, must be the same the world over. There were scuffed and scarred wooden tables, their chairs all turned over to perch on their tops, and the faintest smell of stale alcohol, and the sound of someone whistling a tune as they worked. He turned to Grier. “Looks perfect.”</p><p class="p1">Grier was frowning, as she had been ever since they’d left the magic shop. She crossed her arms. “Do we have enough to pay for the room?”</p><p class="p1">This was an aside to Calum, but Julian must have overheard, or anticipated the question. “Oh, don’t you worry over the price. I’ve got a standing arrangement with Barth, and I’m not sleeping off the Bitters here so much these days.”</p><p class="p1">As Julian sauntered through the door, Calum turned to face Grier. “Don’t you dare keep us out of a free room for the night,” he said, voice low.</p><p class="p1">Grier narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “Nothing’s ever free, Cal.” Still, she pushed past him into the cool darkness of the tavern, her head held up high.</p><p class="p1">Calum huffed. “Nothing’s ever free,” he muttered under his breath, nasally, in a voice that was absolutely nothing like his sister’s, but would have driven her out of her mind if she’d heard him.</p><p class="p1">Inside the Rowdy Raven, Julian was leaning against the bar and deep in conversation with a very large, very hairy man who kept his hands busy polishing glasses as he talked. “Of course the room’s free,” the man - Barth, Calum assumed - said. “You and the missus coming for another one of your nights?”</p><p class="p1">Julian turned very red, very quickly. “Er, ah, we… we aren’t, Barth.”</p><p class="p1">Barth tilted his head to the side and leaned forward. “Nothing shameful about it. When my wife was that far along, I couldn’t keep her off of me.”</p><p class="p1">“Ahem!” Julian slapped a hand on the bar, throwing Calum and Grier a sheepish grin over his shoulder. “Everything is cleaned just like new, correct?”</p><p class="p1">Barth’s eyes flicked over to the twins, and he nodded, slowly. “Aha. Yes. Right. Fresh linens, and I’ve just put a settee up there, too, so’s no one has to share a bed.” He sat his polishing cloth and glass down and extended a hand. “Any friends of the doctor are friends of mine.”</p><p class="p1">Calum took the tavern keeper’s hand. “Calum McPhee,” he said, wondering for a moment just how many times they’d have to go through introducing themselves. Back home, everyone knew the two of them, but here… here, they were strangers in a strange land, and the syllables of his own name were already starting to sound like a stranger’s name on his tongue.</p><p class="p1">After a nudge, Grier summoned up a smile and also took Barth’s hand for a brief shake. “Grier McPhee.”</p><p class="p1">“Twins?” Barth went back to polishing glasses, but gestured up at his own hairline with a flick of his finger. “Got that same… you know.”</p><p class="p1">“A dead giveaway,” Grier said dryly. She cleared her throat. “Mister, um, Barth…”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, just Barth’s fine.”</p><p class="p1">“Barth.” Grier drummed her fingertips on her banjolin case. “Are you absolutely sure there isn’t anything we can do in exchange for the room?”</p><p class="p1">The tavern keeper shook his head. “Like I said, any friends of Doctor Devorak are friends of mine.” He jerked a thumb in Julian’s direction. “This man’s bought enough rounds here to pay my rent for a year.”</p><p class="p1">Julian’s face was the same shade as his hair, now. “So, ah, Barth.” He waved one hand in the air, as if searching for the correct words. “Anything these two need, you put it on my tab, hm?”</p><p class="p1">“See what I mean?” Barth waggled his eyebrows and winked at Grier.</p><p class="p1">Calum began to laugh, though his sister was still solemn, her gaze gone unfocused now, lost somewhere deep in thought. He stepped forward before she could respond. “And we can’t thank you enough.” He prodded Grier between the shoulder blades. “Is it possible for us to head up soon?”</p><p class="p1">Barth nodded. “Absolutely.” He fished in his vest for a ring of keys, and carefully slipped one free. “Even got the new shower room working proper again, if you two’d like to freshen up.”</p><p class="p1">The twins’ faces must have looked as baffled as they both felt, because when they didn’t answer, Julian stepped in to take the key. “Phenomenal, Barth. Absolutely perfect.” He nodded towards the stairs. “Come on. I’ll give you the grand tour.”</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">The “shower room,” as it turned out, was something unlike anything Grier and Calum had seen in their lives. “It’s quite simple, actually,” Julian explained. “Miracle of modern plumbing and magic. Our dear miss Viano helped with the initial blueprints for the Raven’s system, actually.” He twisted a knob, and as if by magic - well, perhaps truly by magic, to some extent - a stream of hot water, like the curtains of water that fell from one particular precipice on the mountain, but actually <em>warm</em>, and not absolutely <em>frigid</em> like back home, came down from an apparatus affixed to the ceiling.</p><p class="p1">They must have truly looked like the quaint backwoods folk everyone took them for, in that moment, but Calum didn’t care how he looked, because he was absolutely fascinated. That such a thing was <em>possible</em>, and was so <em>practical</em> besides, and was apparently the handiwork of Beatrice Viano, filled him with the strangest, lightest bubble of wonder.</p><p class="p1">He could still be <em>amazed</em>, at seven-and-twenty, and that in itself renewed the sense of adventure he thought had been lost with their money.</p><p class="p1">Grier was transfixed, too. When Julian left, with one last reminder that he and Vissenta were always able to help the twins if they needed, she rounded on Calum. “Flip you for the first turn,” she said.</p><p class="p1">“Deal.” Calum eyed the copper coin his sister withdrew from her case. “I call heads.” He peered at the coin. “What… <em>is</em> heads?”</p><p class="p1">Grier shrugged. “Let’s call the goat heads and the beetle tails.” She palmed the coin. “Ready?”</p><p class="p1">Up the stamped, glazed piece of copper flew, end-over-end, and the twins watched it clatter to the floor. When they spotted the unmistakable glint of a faded red beetle, Grier practically crowed with delight. “Ha!” She bent to retrieve the coin, then flipped it toward Calum. “Go buy yourself a consolation drink.”</p><p class="p1">Calum caught the copper and pocketed it. “Finally, a good idea from you.”</p><p class="p1">“That’s not true,” Grier replied loftily. “I was the one who chose to sing Ball Of Kerrymuir, after all.”</p><p class="p1">He rolled his eyes. “Fair.”</p><p class="p1">At the sound of the familiar hum of patrons slowly trickling in to a tavern of an afternoon, Calum hurried down the stairs to join them. They must have arrived just in time; the bar was already beginning to fill up, and he was only just able to sidle in at an empty spot on the very end. When Barth came over, he leaned forward. “So what’s this Bitters I heard Doctor Devorak mention?”</p><p class="p1">Barth shook his head. “Vile. You don’t want it.” He sat a glass on the bar and unstoppered a bottle of something brightly amber-tinted, pouring a healthy measure and waving away the copper that Calum tried to slide across the bar to him. “If the doctor’s paying, you’d better let him. And take my finest whisky on his coin.”</p><p class="p1">Calum sat back and sipped the whisky and sighed; at the rich, woodsmoke taste of the liquor, he was suddenly, blessedly content. “I’m beginning to like Vesuvia,” he said, to no one in particular. And so, with a drink in hand and some time to kill, he began to survey the patrons around him.</p><p class="p1">It was a habit, by now, even back home where he knew everyone, and everyone knew him. He always enjoyed finding the one face in the crowd to flirt with, to exchange glances with, until by the end of the night they were both panting and red-faced up against the wall out back. There were frequent enough travelers through Balochry to ensure that he wasn’t tupping the same barmaid or farmer’s hand week in and week out, though they were certainly always willing to have a good time when he didn’t have a fresh face to tease with winks and grins from across the room. In a wholly new city like Vesuvia… well, why not enjoy himself? It’s what he came here to do, after all, in spite of what loftier ambitions Grier might have given their parents as their reason for flying the coop.</p><p class="p1">A flash of green caught his eye, and he turned his head, suddenly. But of course it wasn’t the green cloak he’d thought he’d seen, even if the green dress on this woman was paired with brown hair. It wasn’t the <em>right</em> sort of brown, though… this woman’s hair was of a deeper hue than the honeyed shade he’d half expected to see.</p><p class="p1">Half <em>hoped</em> to see.</p><p class="p1">He sipped his whisky once more. <em>Plenty more pretty faces around,</em> he thought. <em>No need to look for one in particular.</em></p><p class="p1">But he couldn’t stop <em>thinking</em> of that face.</p><p class="p1">From the moment they’d left the shop earlier in the afternoon, he’d been thinking about how animated Beatrice grew when she talked about her work. He’d thought about how bright her eyes grew, how wide her smile, and how her hands waved about in her enthusiasm. Had he any idea <em>what</em> she’d been talking about? The word “percolation” made some degree of sense, and he knew there was talk of charms, but he could have watched her talk about damn near anything, for all the sense it actually made to him. Because she’d come <em>alive</em>.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Need more whisky to make sense of this.</em>
</p><p class="p1">He shook his head as he continued to drink, and continued to think, and he kept looking around the cozy room as the light outside grew lower, hoping he might catch someone’s eye, or someone might catch his eye, because that’s where the adventure lay, that’s what he hoped to do on this journey. Oh, play music, yes, but he liked to <em>feel</em>. He liked to use his hands in all manner of ways, particularly if it meant hearing someone moan his name in his ear as he did it.</p><p class="p1">How would his name sound on <em>her</em> lips, he wondered.</p><p class="p1">He stared at the bottom of his now-empty glass and frowned. He needed some rest, is what he needed. Needed a chance to get a decent night’s sleep, and wash off the days of sea travel that had accumulated on him, scrape away the salt grime that was clearly clouding his mind and throwing him off balance. When Barth came to him with the bottle, he held up a hand, a perfunctory sound of thanks in his throat, and headed back upstairs.</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">When Grier took her turn to head down to the bar in search of a drink and a halfway decent dinner that wasn’t born of shipboard rations, Calum inspected the device in the small room that adjoined their sleeping quarters.</p><p class="p1">Simple enough, it seemed. He turned the knob and, pleased to see that the water was as warm as it had been the first time, shucked off his clothing, unbuckling his suspenders and unbuttoning his shirt and kicking his boots away before he finally stepped out of his trousers and into the steady stream of hot water.</p><p class="p1">He groaned, planting a hand on the smooth marble wall and simply letting the water run through his hair and down his neck and back for a few long, luxurious minutes. The heat eased his muscles, from his shoulders on down, parts of him he hadn’t even known he’d been holding in such a state of tension until he was given the chance to relax them. The entire experience, so unlike the trials and tribulations of heating a tub for bathing back home, was nothing short of miraculous.</p><p class="p1">He’d have to compliment Beatrice on her work, next time he saw her.</p><p class="p1">Because of course he hoped there would be a next time.</p><p class="p1">He <em>wanted</em> there to be a next time.</p><p class="p1"><em>Beatrice Viano</em>.</p><p class="p1">Her name was still at the front of his mind, along with the image of her green cloak, and her long brown hair, and her wide eyes and bright smile, and the sweet smell of her that he’d caught when he got so close to her earlier, when he’d helped her get the sugar bowl down at the magic shop.</p><p class="p1">She’d been so <em>close</em> to him. He had a good half foot of height on her, and she should have seemed so small, but she’d filled his senses in that moment. She’d been solid and real, more than just the ghost a vision in the mist he’d bumped into early that morning, and he could have wrapped his arms around her. Pulled her closer. Buried his nose in her hair.</p><p class="p1"><em>Violets</em>.</p><p class="p1">She’d smelled like violets.</p><p class="p1">He hadn’t been able to place it, earlier, but now it came to him so suddenly, so clearly, and he thought about the deep purple dress she’d been wearing, and how watching her remove her cloak had almost seemed <em>obscene</em>, which was ridiculous, because he’d seen the truly obscene in his life, and yet.</p><p class="p1">The memory of the laces at the sides of that dress taunted him now.</p><p class="p1">Without thinking, his free hand had wandered down to his cock, already half-hard just thinking about the way Beatrice’s dress clung to her waist and the way she blushed and smiled at him. He stroked, just once, imagining what it might be like to see her blush and smile at him as he unlaced her dress. How the ends of that long, honey-brown, violet-scented hair would feel brushing against his chest as she leaned over him.</p><p class="p1">How soft her skin might feel.</p><p class="p1">His strokes were quicker now, harder, because he hadn’t had the privacy to do this in so long, hadn’t had anyone to imagine who he hadn’t already seen come a dozen times beneath him before, and he felt so urgent, so hot with want, so tightly-coiled, and he had been ever since he’d run into Beatrice this morning, and he’d wound himself up even tighter when he leaned over her at the shop, and he had to do something about this, had to do this <em>now</em>.</p><p class="p1"><em>Fuck</em>, she’d felt so warm even with the space between them, the space he’d very carefully left, because he didn’t want to scare her away. Because he wanted her to come to him. He wanted her to smile at him, to feel at ease around him, to show her face to him, and he was thinking about her face now, and thinking about what expression he might see when he pushed her shift down past her shoulders, how those hazel-green eyes would look at him when he touched her, what shape her lips would take when he showed her what his hands could do…</p><p class="p1"><em>Fuck fuck fuck fuck</em>.</p><p class="p1">His forehead was resting on his arm now, he was bracing himself as best he could as he stroked and pumped and thought about Beatrice Viano’s lips and where she might put them and how much he wanted to hear that soft voice of hers grow louder, above him, below him, beside him, wherever she’d like him—</p><p class="p1">The stream of water washed everything down the drain in the center of the floor, and Calum stood there for a minute longer, and though he knew the soap in the dish nearby was a simple rough lye, he could have sworn he smelled violets.</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">They were back in the square, bright and early. “No time to waste,” Grier said, all business once more, and for once, Calum agreed with her.</p><p class="p1">Because he needed the distraction from his own thoughts.</p><p class="p1">Distractions were hard to come by, though, when the market square was apparently the place where everyone in Vesuvia congregated in the mornings, including the very person one would like to be distracted from thinking of.</p><p class="p1">“Calum, <em>no.”</em></p><p class="p1">He wasn’t listening to Grier, because he’d been distracted, even as he told himself he wouldn’t be. His eye had been caught by a flash of green, and it was the correct flash of green this time, and he could feel his own face burning at the memory of what he’d imagined doing with that cloak and the woman who wore it.</p><p class="p1">“Calum, <em>absolutely not.</em>”</p><p class="p1">He finally relented and looked up at Grier, twirling his bodhran tipper between his fingers once more, and tried to feign innocence and ignorance. “What have I done this time?”</p><p class="p1">Grier was tuning her banjolin, and Calum could see a crowd already starting to gather around them. Their fame appeared to precede them, today, and already there were whispers around their spot on the lip of the fountain, and people beckoning to friends to come join, and eager stares from a few children who’d heard about the odd duo who sang bawdy songs in public. His sister remained unfazed, and leaned toward him even as she cast a significant glance to the one face in the crowd they both recognized. “She’s <em>nice,</em>” Grier said. “She’s nice, and has nice tea, and I want to actually be invited over for tea again.”</p><p class="p1">Calum stopped twirling the drumstick long enough to hold up his hands in mock defense. “I have done nothing! Absolutely nothing!”</p><p class="p1">“And you’d better keep it that way,” Grier retorted. She sighed, then strummed a chord. “But if you want to go talk to her, I’ve got enough material that doesn’t need your help.”</p><p class="p1">He flashed his sister a smile. “You’re getting soft in your old age, Rie.”</p><p class="p1">“You have ten minutes,” was the curt reply.</p><p class="p1">He could do this. He could carry on a conversation with Beatrice Viano, and he could maybe make her smile again, and he could do all of this without thinking about her hair, or her dress, or how well he could imagine his hands resting on the curve of her waist—</p><p class="p1">“Calum!” Beatrice <em>was</em> smiling at him, and she was studiously avoiding his gaze, but she’d said his name. <em>She’d said his name.</em> She finally met his eyes, just for a moment. “I hope there were no thieves out and about this morning.”</p><p class="p1">If she’d been anyone else, he might have made a terrible joke about how she was the thief, how she’d stolen his heart, but the joke died halfway up his throat because he realized, with slow-dawning shock, that it wasn’t a joke at all.</p><p class="p1">She’d stolen <em>something</em> from him.</p><p class="p1">“Vesuvia’s made a better second impression,” he finally managed. He saw that Beatrice’s hands were full of more paper-wrapped packages, and he nodded at them. “Is this for your work?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh!” She flashed him that dazzling grin, and he swore he felt his knees go weak. “Yes! I needed some parts to work on the device prototype today, and a few more herbs.”</p><p class="p1">“And this is for…?” Calum remembered very well what he’d heard Asra call it the day before; he simply wanted to hear Beatrice explain it again.</p><p class="p1">And explain it she did. She brushed her hair behind her ears, turning her face up to him now, her face animated and alight like it had been yesterday. “I’m creating an alternative to breastmilk.” Shockingly, she didn’t blush at uttering the word “breastmilk.” Instead, she barreled onward. “You see, Vissenta would like to make sure her baby is fed well, and of course the so-called traditional methods aren’t always foolproof or guaranteed! And she’s been off her St John’s wort treatment for months now, and would like to resume it as soon as the baby is born…” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry. This is a lot of information. I do apologize.”</p><p class="p1">Calum shook his head in wonder. “Never apologize for caring so much about something.”</p><p class="p1">The look she gave him was almost too much to bear.</p><p class="p1">They stood there like that, for a few moments, before Beatrice blushed once more and looked down. “I must be going.” She peeked back up at him from beneath her lashes. “But it was nice to see you again, Calum.”</p><p class="p1">His name from her mouth was intoxicating. He almost didn’t think to reply. But when her brow furrowed at his silence, he very nearly overcompensated, stumbling over his words in his rush to reassure her. “And it was nice to see you, Beatrice.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Maybe we—“</p><p class="p1">“Would you like to come for tea again?” The words fell from her in a rush, and she pressed her fingers to her lips immediately after, wide-eyed.</p><p class="p1">His breathing came easier, suddenly. “We’d love to.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice smiled, her cheeks gone pink. “Wonderful! I’ll see you then!” And with a wave, she disappeared into the crowd.</p><p class="p1">Slowly, Calum turned back toward the fountain. He settled down next to Grier, his mind still elsewhere as she came to the end of her song, one sung in their mother tongue, Gàidhlig.</p><p class="p1">“‘Buadladh mo dha làimh…” Grier trailed off, the ballad come to a close, and from the hush that had fallen over the small crowd, Calum could hear the sound of weeping.</p><p class="p1">As the rest of the crowd dispersed, the source of the weeping became apparent: a tall, red-haired woman, clad in deep blue silks, was wiping her eyes and walking toward them. She stopped before the twins, still dabbing at her eyes with a square of fine woven cloth, and took a moment to compose herself before speaking. <em>«Well done.»</em></p><p class="p1">Grier started, and whipped her head around to stare at Calum. They were both stunned speechless at the sound of Gàidhlig, so far from home. Grier was the first to speak. <em>«Thank you.»</em></p><p class="p1">The red-haired woman smiled, and inclined her head slightly. “Deirdra Carew-Satrinava.” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “But Deirdra is fine.” She planted her hands on her hips. “And where do you two come from, to know Griogal Cridhe? I haven’t heard that one since I was a babe in arms across the Salty Sea.”</p><p class="p1">The twins exchanged glances before Calum finally spoke. “Balochry.”</p><p class="p1">Deirdra nodded. “Caer Ellig.” She turned, sweeping one arm until she was pointing at a richly-appointed carriage at the edge of the square. “Please, come with me to the palace. I know that my wife, the Countess, would love to meet you.”</p><p class="p1">The shock on their faces must have been apparent, because Deirdra smiled warmly and clasped her hands together. “Countess Satrinava is a distinguished patron of the arts, you see, and to meet such fine musicians from so close to my homeland…” She inclined her head once more. “You don’t have to come, of course. But we would be honored.”</p><p class="p1">For all her deferential words, something in Deirdra’s tone brooked no argument. Even Grier wordlessly packed away her banjolin and rose to her feet, as though transfixed, and Calum followed suit. They listened to Deirdra carry on a pleasant enough conversation in Gàidhlig, and responded to her in kind, dumbstruck at their dumb luck, and were soon in the carriage and on their way.</p><p class="p1">When they jolted into motion, Deirdra leaned forward. “And now,” she said, her deep blue eyes peering at them cannily. “You will tell me about the touch of the fae upon you.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Do You Think Of Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Beatrice was too close to the window.</p><p class="p1">If she was being honest with herself, being in view of the window at all was probably too close. If she could see out onto the street, see the people walking by, see that none of them were stopping at the shop’s door, see that none of them had black hair with a streak of white, then she was just… too close.</p><p class="p1">She picked up her notes and the copper cup and plate and assorted springs and rods that littered the shop counter. “Vissenta?” She fumbled about, her arms as full as they were, and tottered toward the back room as best she could. “Vissenta, would you mind swapping?”</p><p class="p1">She could hear a sigh, and the grunt that always accompanied Vissenta standing up these days, and soon the curtain twitched back. “Oh, we’ll hear anyone who comes in. Just come sit with me.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice carefully laid her supplies on the table. “Vissenta, are you hiding?”</p><p class="p1">“How could you tell?” Vissenta sat back down and picked up her cards and started to shuffle. “Want a reading? I haven’t had anyone ask for one in days, and I’m afraid that if I don’t use it, I’ll lose it.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice was busy with the kettle, falling into practiced motions as she scooped her favorite vanilla and cinnamon and Assam blend into the teapot. As she prepared the tea tray, she felt the pull to go look past the curtain and out the window again, looking for the teatime guest she’d been waiting for so impatiently. <em>Teatime guests</em>, she reminded herself. It wasn’t simply Calum who would be coming to tea.</p><p class="p1">If he was coming at all.</p><p class="p1">She finally sat down next to Vissenta. “I somehow doubt that one known as l’Oracle Sauvage would be able to <em>lose</em> her abilities at card-reading.”</p><p class="p1">Vissenta huffed. “Oh, humor me.” She passed the deck over to Beatrice. Its edges were soft with use, rounded at the corners, with a fleur-de-lis emblazoned on the back in scarlet ink, gone faded with the years.</p><p class="p1">Every time she held this deck, Beatrice had to take a moment to look through the cards, to look at the painted figures that were unlike those on Asra’s deck or even her own. They were deceptively simple, with the major arcana looking almost as if they’d been drawn by a child. Well, a preternaturally psychic child, perhaps. Still. Their design and their size did not look like the deck of a diviner so much as they resembled playing cards.</p><p class="p1">Vissenta had assented to this once, when Beatrice asked. “In Parletris, tarot is… different.” She’d turned over a few of the minor cards, all swords, all simple and repetitive in their design, with only the quantity of swords to mark the difference between them. “It’s a way of life, but not like here in Vesuvia. Most people actually do use the cards for games.”</p><p class="p1">It had been a fascinating lesson. Beatrice had never been beyond the borders of Vesuvia, unless she counted the journeys she took in her mind when she devoured the books in the palace library, on days that she and Vissenta went to have tea with the countesses. She’d only traveled in her mind, to the salt flats of Nevivon and the steppes of the Scourgelands, only with maps and drawings and words to paint the picture in her mind’s eye.</p><p class="p1"><em>None of those books mentioned Balochry</em>.</p><p class="p1">The thought was insistent, and she resisted the pull to go look at the shop window once more. Instead, she shuffled the cards, delicately cutting the deck into three and selecting the one at the center. “Shall I lay out a three-card reading?”</p><p class="p1">Vissenta tapped her lips with one finger, then shook her head. “No. I feel like we’ll have to turn them over one at a time until we’re finished.”</p><p class="p1">This was another quirk of Beatrice’s boss-turned-friend. Most fortune-tellers in Vesuvia had a set repertoire of spreads, with some even charging by the card, but Vissenta almost never laid her cards out in a predetermined pattern. Each querent was different, as she would remind Beatrice. Why should they all have the same line of cards to give them their answer?</p><p class="p1">Beatrice lay her first card down, and Vissenta reached to turn it over. “Ace of cups,” she said, then trained her bright green eyes on Beatrice. “Would this have anything to do with why you’ve been staring out that window all morning?”</p><p class="p1">“I… no!” Still, Beatrice couldn’t argue with the card that lay before her. “Shall I draw another?”</p><p class="p1">“Please.”</p><p class="p1">When Vissenta turned over the second card - the two of cups - and lay it on top of the first, Beatrice reached for the deck. “I’m certain I shuffled <em>quite </em>thoroughly.”</p><p class="p1">“I know you did.” Vissenta tapped the card decisively. “They’re just being very honest with me today. Unlike you.” She raised one eyebrow.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice sighed and reached for her tea. “Is it so obvious?”</p><p class="p1">Tilting her head, Vissenta gestured at the deck. “One more.”</p><p class="p1">With another sigh, Beatrice obeyed. She laid the card facedown, almost afraid to see what it might be, though her own magician’s intuition gave her an uncomfortable inkling. She stirred three lumps of sugar into her tea as she waited, her eyes trained on that red fleur-de-lis.</p><p class="p1">Over the card went, beneath Vissenta’s fingers, and when she pulled her hand back, there it was. <em>L’Amoureux</em>, read the scrawled letters at the bottom of the card. <em>The Lovers.</em></p><p class="p1">Beatrice’s face went hot. “Vissenta, you’ve told me before that the Lovers can simply be a… a partnership!” She did her best to hide behind her teacup, but her eyes were still riveted to the cards on the table.</p><p class="p1">Vissenta leaned forward, smirking up into Beatrice’s gaze. “It can, but not when you’ve pulled the ace and two of cups it doesn’t.” She swept the cards into a pile and pulled them towards her, rearranging them back into a neat stack. “It doesn’t mean <em>marriage</em>, Beatrice.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice’s voice felt small when she replied, as if she was talking to her <em>mother</em> again, which was ridiculous, because Vissenta was as far from her mother as she could possibly imagine. “Isn’t it supposed to, though?”</p><p class="p1">“Oh, please.” Vissenta poured her own cup of tea, stirring in enough cool milk to make it immediately drinkable, and she took a long sip. “The first time I met Julian, I threatened to cut his good eye out. If you’d told me <em>that </em>was the man I’d marry and ask to put this thing…” She pointed at her belly. “Into me, I’d have said you were out of your fucking mind.”</p><p class="p1">At this, Beatrice grew even warmer. “I… I don’t want him to make a <em>baby</em> with me!”</p><p class="p1">This earned another smirk from Vissenta. “They’d be awfully pretty ones, if you change your mind.” At Beatrice’s mortified expression, she laughed, and finally relented. “Beatrice, what I’m saying is that you can have some fun. You can enjoy being attracted to someone. Hell, you can even <em>kiss</em> him if you want.” She drained her tea and poured a second cup. “When was the last time you actually kissed someone?”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice stared into her tea. “Asra,” she mumbled.</p><p class="p1">“Asra?” Vissenta sat back. “Gods, Beatrice, that was eight months ago.”</p><p class="p1">“I know,” Beatrice moaned, sitting her teacup down to rest her face in her hands. “And it wasn’t even a good kiss.”</p><p class="p1">Vissenta leaned around the table to pat her on the knee. “They can’t all be.”</p><p class="p1">They were interrupted by the sound of tapping at the window.</p><p class="p1">Beatrice was the first out of her seat, but rather than dash to the door as she so desperately wanted to do, she held her hands out to help Vissenta up from her chair. Only then did she race forward, not even bothering to fully push the curtain aside in her haste. Her heart fell when she saw there was no one at the door, but the tapping continued.</p><p class="p1">“Chandra!” Vissenta brushed past her and unlatched the window. Sure enough, there was Nadia’s owl familiar, bearing a creamy envelope in her beak. Vissenta took the envelope, giving the owl a small stroke on her head, and opened the jar of dried crickets she kept by the window. “Here you go, sweetheart.”</p><p class="p1">The owl snapped up the treat and ruffled her pearly feathers, blinking her wide black eyes once, twice, and then flying away.</p><p class="p1">Vissenta carefully slid the tip of her athame underneath the flap of the envelope, withdrawing a pale blue card. “Oh, it would seem we’re invited for dinner tonight.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice nodded. “Well, I shan’t keep you from getting ready. I should be heading home to start preparing dinner, anyway.”</p><p class="p1">“I said <em>we</em>.” Vissenta’s eyes flicked up at Beatrice, a glint of mischief behind them. “Your presence has been very specifically requested this evening.”</p><p class="p1">In spite of all her better manners, Beatrice snatched the card from Vissenta’s hand. “That’s impossible.” She scanned the fine writing on the invitation - all in Deirdra’s hand, and indeed, her own name was written there as a requested guest - but it was the blocky scrawl at the very bottom that made her breath catch in her throat.</p><p class="p1"><em>Sorry I missed tea.</em> <em>-C</em></p><p class="p1">She pressed her fingers to her lips. “I… I couldn’t!” She thrust the invitation back at Vissenta and dashed to the back room to collect her things. “I’m not even dressed properly! And Aunt Cora made dinner last night, I really must do so for her tonight, and—“</p><p class="p1">“Oh no you don’t.” Vissenta stood in the back room doorway, her arms spread wide, barricading the only exit. “You are coming to this dinner, and you are going to talk to that <em>very</em> nice man who <em>clearly</em> wants to see you again, and you are not going to argue about it.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice looked over Vissenta’s shoulder, scanning for an opening, hoping that perhaps Vissenta might move out of the way and she could squeeze past.</p><p class="p1">Vissenta must have read her thoughts - oracle indeed - because she narrowed her eyes and widened her stance. “You wouldn’t knock over a pregnant lady, would you?”</p><p class="p1">Finally, Beatrice sighed and sat her belongings back down on the table. “I’ll only go if Aunt Cora doesn’t <em>need</em> me.”</p><p class="p1">Vissenta nodded briskly. “You stay right here. Pour another cup of tea. This’ll only be a few minutes, I’m sure.” She dropped her arms and turned, but not before she waved one threatening finger at Beatrice. “If you make a run for it, I’m <em>definitely</em> firing you.”</p><p class="p1">From her seat in the back, Beatrice could hear Vissenta throw open the window and whistle. The flutter of wings meant that Vissenta’s merlin familiar, Etienne, had arrived, and Beatrice supposed she was sending a message to Cora. She sighed and poured another cup of tea, brushing her fingertips at the side of the cup to gently heat it back to her ideal. If she had nothing else, at least she had her tea to soothe her jangling nerves.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>He was sorry he missed tea.</em>
</p><p class="p1">She bit her lip, trying to fight down her smile. Calum was sorry he missed tea. Perhaps there was something to the cards she’d drawn, but it all seemed too good to be true. And she still wasn’t certain what someone was interesting and talented as Calum might see in her. She was just a teacher, an a magician’s apprentice, and according to her late mother, a poor excuse for a proper lady.</p><p class="p1">She frowned into her tea. It wasn’t for lack of trying. Doing her best to be a proper lady had done her well enough, thus far, even if it made so many things difficult just as it made other things easy. She could count on herself to behave well, to smooth over conflicts, and to put to right what minor wrongs were left littered about her by others’ carelessness. Because she was the <em>opposite</em> of careless, and until now, she’d thought this her highest virtue. But as she heard Vissenta bustling back to the back room, she began to wonder: <em>Could I do with a little less care?</em></p><p class="p1">Vissenta held a scrap of parchment and held it out to Beatrice. “Your aunt insists on you accompanying me for dinner tonight.” She leaned forward. “Look at me. I’m a vulnerable pregnant woman. I could be <em>injured</em>, I could fall victim to some <em>grave misfortune</em> if I go alone.”</p><p class="p1">Beatrice let out a rather unladylike snort. “Vissenta, I would fear for anyone who tried to inflict misfortune upon you.” She glanced down at the paper, and sure enough, there was Cora’s spidery hand.</p><p class="p1">
  <em>Beatrice darling, I have a prior engagement this evening. Please accept the countess’ invitation, my dear.</em>
</p><p class="p1">She smiled and shook her head. Prior engagement indeed. For her aunt, a wild night usually involved opening the sherry before dinner rather than after. She folded the parchment into a tiny square. “But I’m really not properly dressed,” she said.</p><p class="p1">Vissenta smiled. “You leave that to me.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. I Would Change My Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ever since he’d arrived in Vesuvia, Calum appeared to not be able to go a day without something absolutely obliterating his good mood. Oh, he knew that not <em>every</em> day could be a great one, or even a good one, but between losing his money, possibly losing his mind over the first pretty woman he saw, and now losing his faith in his usually steadfast sister’s good common sense, he desperately wanted something simple and <em>nice</em> to happen for a change.</p>
<p class="p1">Unfortunately, what could have been a very nice windfall - after all, going from playing on the street to having an audience with royalty in the span of a day was incredible luck - was quickly revealing itself to be even more of a gigantic pain in his ass.</p>
<p class="p1">His hands were still over his face as he sat in the carriage and tried his very best to process all that he’d just heard. “Let me get this straight,” he muttered. “You… went into the beech grove. And you… told them your name.”</p>
<p class="p1">It was an old tale in Balochry: the Folk lived in the beech grove, and one never went there after dark, particularly not to go about talking of things like wishes and given names. Even as a child, Calum thought they were all just stories, the sorts of things parents tell their children to keep them from wandering out into the woods at night. There were plenty of real dangers in the forest: panthers, bears, wolves, rushing rivers and poison berries and travelers who were unwelcome in the village proper. But children always needed a good scare, and occasionally even liked a good scare, and so he’d thought it all to simply <em>be</em> a good scare until five minutes ago.</p>
<p class="p1">He pressed the heels of his palms into his closed eyes, still unable to fully comprehend the fantastic tale his sister had just spun, even as he knew that it was very likely true. “You wanted people to <em>like</em> you when you play? Damn it to hell, Grier, you’re supposed to be the <em>sensible</em> one!”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier was in tears, with Deirdra’s arm around her, the redhead’s hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. “I was jealous!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, fine thing for you to do out of <em>jealousy</em>,” Calum spat out. He finally lifted his face to glare at his twin, his best friend since birth, the one person in this large, lonely, <em>lousy</em> world who he thought he could trust with his entire life if it came down to it.</p>
<p class="p1">Apparently not.</p>
<p class="p1">He ran a hand through his hair, then stopped halfway, thinking about the streak of white at the front. When it first appeared, he’d thought it odd that the whole streak seemed to grow in overnight. But their parents paid it no mind. “Your da started going gray in his teens,” their ma said, and everyone seemed content to leave it at that. Even Grier. <em>Especially</em> Grier. And now he knew why.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m sorry, Cal,” she choked out, still sobbing. “I thought they’d take <em>me</em> after seven years. Or… or we could figure something out. I wanted to write a song to give them, or even let them…” Her voice cracked. “Even let them have my voice.” She let her hair fall into her face again, that damned matching white streak of hers dancing in Calum’s face, and he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know what to say. All he could do was let her weep, the sobs wracking her whole body now, and still he wasn’t sure it would ever be enough to undo what she did.</p>
<p class="p1">He had a month. <em>They</em> had a month. Exactly one month before the teind was due, according to Grier, and even across an ocean, on a wholly different continent, Calum had the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that they hadn’t escaped it. If the Folk were real… he touched his own hair again. They were real. And they would take their due, no matter how far they had to travel. <em>Hell, they can probably be here in an instant.</em> He felt sick. He might actually <em>be</em> sick. He leaned back, running a hand over his face once more.</p>
<p class="p1">Deirdra was still murmuring soothing sounds, but paused long enough to reach over and take Calum’s other hand and give his fingers a squeeze. “The two of you were right to cross the sea,” she said. “Nadia - the Countess - and I… we’ve both seen a little of what may come.” She stroked Grier’s brow, like their mother might have done. “You came to Vesuvia to find help, didn’t you?”</p>
<p class="p1">Sniffling, Grier looked up at her and nodded, unable to meet Calum’s brooding glare. “The stories I heard…” She used her fringed scarf to wipe at her eyes, even as more tears welled up behind the ones she tried to dry. “Stories of magicians who defeated a god.”</p>
<p class="p1">That wry grin was on Deirdra’s face once more, making her suddenly look younger, though still not as young as the twins. Less maternal, perhaps, and more like an aunt, one with good advice and all the right words and, perhaps, even a good drink.</p>
<p class="p1">This was, apparently, a <em>very</em> correct assumption. Deirdra leaned down and pressed a latch beneath the cushioned bench she and Grier sat upon, and a small compartment popped open. She withdrew a bottle of something shining and golden, and unstoppered the cork. “For the Countess’ nerves,” she said, that grin still on her face, and she took a sip. She passed the bottle over to Calum, who gratefully took a long pull of the sweet, fizzing wine. Wasn’t to his taste, but he wasn’t about to pass up free alcohol, particularly under the circumstances.</p>
<p class="p1">He couldn’t bring himself to pass the bottle directly to Grier and handed it back to Deirdra instead, who did so for him. “Now,” the tall redhead began. “We have much more to discuss over dinner tonight.”</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Calum held up the richly-embroidered vest, the first item of clothing he spotted on the neat stack on the bed. “Do I have to?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Miladies would be horribly offended if you didn’t,” the young woman at the door said with a cheery smile. She’d introduced herself as Portia Devorak - yes, <em>that</em> Devorak - and shown him up to a room that might have been bigger than the single room house he’d grown up in. She tossed her bright red hair and winked. “I hear we have some special guests for dinner tonight.”</p>
<p class="p1">The tips of his ears began to burn. He’d been an idiot for asking Deirdra to send that invitation, in retrospect. Even more of an idiot to ask if he could write his own message at the end. On the whole, he’d just been an idiot, ever since he set foot on dry land. He’d have been better off staying in Balochry, where he could at least die - or get taken, or however this worked - in a place he knew.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’ve also brought up some beer, if you’d like a little something to take the edge off.” Portia held up a small earthenware jug. “My husband Sander brews the best brown ale you’ve ever had, guaranteed.”</p>
<p class="p1">Then again, there were certainly <em>worse</em> places he could be right now.</p>
<p class="p1">Calum nodded gratefully. “Please.” He took the jug, and rather than look for a glass to pour into, took a swig straight from the source. He nodded. “Really is good.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Of course it is! I told ya so.” Portia clasped her hands together and grinned. “Well, miladies begin dinner in an hour. Take your time, freshen up, make yourself look nice.” She winked. “Not that you have to do too much work for that.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum nearly choked on the beer. “You… you said you’re married, right?”</p>
<p class="p1">Portia waved a hand. “He knows I’m not dead. I can look all I want.” She backed out of the doorway, drawing the door to a close behind her.“See you in an hour!”</p>
<p class="p1">As the door clicked shut, Calum sighed and sat down on the bed. He gingerly sat the jug of beer down on the small table at the head of the bed and then, with all the self-indulgent groaning he could muster, fell back onto the impossibly soft mattress.</p>
<p class="p1">This was all too much.</p>
<p class="p1">He was sorely tempted to fall asleep right here, and maybe avoid dinner altogether. But Deirdra had promised that there would be further discussion of the twins’ work and lodgings, if they were to be in Vesuvia, and he knew he had to at least show up for that, lest Grier let her pride get in the way of anything that didn’t involve the two of them right back out in the square singing for coppers.</p>
<p class="p1">Grier.</p>
<p class="p1">He turned over, burying his face into a pillow, wondering if perhaps he should scream into it, and if that might make him feel better. He didn’t know if he could look his sister in the eye ever again, after what he learned she’d done.</p>
<p class="p1">It was the <em>jealousy</em> part that dug into him, sunk its claws somewhere in his back, beneath his ribs, and made him wonder how well he actually knew his sister. They’d always done things together, always knew one another better than anyone else, always knew that no matter what happened, they’d be the best family that either of them could have. If he’d known that she was jealous of him…</p>
<p class="p1">Hell, he should have been the one jealous of <em>her</em>. Banging on a drum was nothing, compared to what she did, even before she’d apparently gone into the grove. All he ever wanted was to be able to <em>sing</em> like that, to coax notes from some instrument in a true melody, but he always fumbled with strings, always lost patience with anything that required him to concentrate that way. Rhythm was easy. Rhythm was in his blood.</p>
<p class="p1">He turned over. <em>Wonder how much of it is really me after all,</em> he wondered bitterly. If Grier had been touched and that same magic appeared on him in the same moment… how much of his talent was actually his? How much was <em>he</em>?</p>
<p class="p1">Too much. All of it.</p>
<p class="p1">He sat back up and, resigned to his fine-clothed fate, began to change.</p>
<p class="p1">Portia came to fetch him in time for dinner, Grier close behind her. The handmaid brightened when she saw him. “Oh, now what did I tell you? Those clothes look wonderful!” She cocked her head to the side. “The vest does have buttons, you know.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Can’t breathe in the damn thing,” Calum mumbled. He resolutely crossed his arms over his chest, letting the vest hang open, and hoped that Portia didn’t notice that he’d kept his own scuffed, worn boots on, rather than the finer pair that were now shoved into a corner. He felt like a doll someone was dressing up, and on the whole utterly foolish.</p>
<p class="p1">Portia shrugged. “Suit yourself!” She beckoned down the hall. “Come quick. I think the other guests have arrived.”</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Oh, hell.</em> Calum didn’t know what he looked like, but he felt damn sure that Beatrice Viano would think he looked absurd, because he certainly felt that way, and she was nothing if not a practical and honest woman, from what he could tell.</p>
<p class="p1">And he was an idiot.</p>
<p class="p1">“Calum,” Grier murmured, her voice raspy from the crying she’d done all afternoon.</p>
<p class="p1">He stared forward, keeping his eyes trained on Portia’s back. “Not now, Grier.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Calum…”</p>
<p class="p1">He shook his head. “Not. Now.”</p>
<p class="p1">Portia threw open the doors to the large dining room. “Here we are!”</p>
<p class="p1">She’d been right about the other guests. They’d arrived early, it seemed, and were already seated. Vissenta was leaning over the table as much as her belly would allow, chatting animatedly with Deirdra. Old friends, Deirdra had told him, when he’d mentioned to her that he’d promised to go to l’Étoile d’Or for tea that afternoon. It seemed they had a great deal to talk about, and before Calum was seated, all of Vissenta’s hand-waving and Deirdra’s shifting about in laughter meant that he nearly didn’t notice Beatrice.</p>
<p class="p1">Until he <em>did</em> notice Beatrice.</p>
<p class="p1">He nearly stumbled on his way to his chair. He… <em>fuck</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">He was seated across from Beatrice.</p>
<p class="p1">And she was…</p>
<p class="p1">Her hair was up, away from her face, away from her neck, away from her shoulders. He’d never been absolutely undone by a woman’s shoulders before - they were shoulders, everyone had them, and plenty showed them off, like Vissenta seemed fond of doing - but these were <em>Beatrice’s</em> shoulders, and he…</p>
<p class="p1">He wanted to touch them. Touch <em>her.</em></p>
<p class="p1">She was turned, just slightly, in conversation with Nadia, and as he sat down he could see that there was a small, heart-shaped mark along the back of her left shoulder. <em>That</em> was different from what he’d pictured the night before - was it really just last night? it felt like ages ago - but he knew that if - when - he pictured her bare shoulders again, he’d see that heart-shaped mark as if it had been branded into his eyelids.</p>
<p class="p1">Perhaps it had.</p>
<p class="p1">When she turned to face him, he nearly choked on his water. Her dress the day before had been purple, true, and this gown she wore tonight was also purple, but where he’d only seen Beatrice Viano in modest, demure linen and wool, tonight she was in something much, much finer. And it was cut much lower.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Much</em> lower.</p>
<p class="p1">He did his best to keep his eyes trained on her face. Not that this was helping matters. His heart hammered just as much to see her eyes, and to see the way she was smiling and blushing shyly at him, and—</p>
<p class="p1">“Calum?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta’s voice snapped him out of whatever trance Beatrice had put him under. He blinked and swallowed. “Y-yes?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta leaned over. She was seated directly to his right. “Dee tells me that you two are going to be installed as the new palace musicians?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum looked at Deirdra and Nadia in astonishment. “We are?”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier, to his left, was already shaking her head. “Oh, we couldn’t possibly—“</p>
<p class="p1">“We <em>could</em>,” Calum said, cutting Grier a look. “Yes, we’d be honored. More than honored.”</p>
<p class="p1">Deirdra smiled at them both, her dimples giving her face that impossibly youthful appearance once more. “Oh, it won’t be all dinners and parties. We wish for you to work while you’re here, too.”</p>
<p class="p1">Nadia nodded. “I have the perfect space for workshops. I understand you both are masters of instrument craft, as well as musicians.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum reached for the closest goblet, which turned out to be full of more of that fizzy golden wine that Deirdra had shared with them in the carriage. He took a gulp. “We make do.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, don’t listen to them!” Deirdra took her wife’s hand. “Nadia, darling, you saw the instruments they play. Handmade, and the finest quality. We <em>must</em> offer them our patronage.”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier looked ready to argue once more, but Calum actually did kick her this time, and none too gently, though still subtly enough that no one else at the table could see. At least, he hoped no one could see. He could see, out of the corner of his eye, that she was clenching her jaw and her fingers. After a moment, she relaxed and nodded. “We’re honored,” she said, repeating his words, even as they sounded distant and forced coming from her mouth.</p>
<p class="p1">Deirdra was not the sort of woman to miss a detail, but she was the sort to gloss over them when necessary. “I’m so glad it’s settled,” she said brightly. “Now, Beatrice, <em>do</em> tell us about your latest experiment!”</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">The rest of dinner passed by Calum’s notice in a blur. Course after course, drink after drink, and all he could recall from the whole affair was the way Beatrice looked when she spoke. The way she smiled. The way she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear as her eyes sparkled in the candlelight, her face dazzlingly animated once more as she spoke of the work she’d been doing, of the books she’d been reading, of the lessons she was teaching at the school she ran with her aunt.</p>
<p class="p1">Of course, he would be lying to himself - and probably anyone else at that table with eyes who could see where his wandered to - if he tried to claim that he hadn’t looked at just how her breasts swelled over the line of her bodice whenever she paused to take a deep breath. He wondered how they might feel beneath his hands, beneath his lips, pressed against his chest—</p>
<p class="p1">For fuck’s sake, he was going to stand to leave this table eventually, and he didn’t need to try doing that with tented trousers.</p>
<p class="p1">Eventually, the final course was passed. Calum was already contemplating how quickly he might be able to make it up to his quarters to engage in a quick burst of strenuous solo activity while thinking about Beatrice Viano’s shoulders. But then, the guilt settled in.</p>
<p class="p1">Perhaps the most effective way to slow his heart rate was when he reminded himself that, no matter what might happen with Beatrice, or his acquaintance with her, he had one month. Four weeks. And he could not, in good conscience, begin anything that had such a decisive expiration. It might make him feel good, true, but he’d known her for all of thirty-six hours and could say with certainty that he couldn’t do this to <em>her</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">Maybe someone else off the street.</p>
<p class="p1">But not Beatrice.</p>
<p class="p1">As they all wandered from the dining room, with Nadia and Deirdra pulling Vissenta aside to have a private conversation in the salon, Calum finally managed to look at Beatrice and speak directly to her for the first time all evening. “You look… very nice.”</p>
<p class="p1">She buried her face in her hands, blushing all the while. “It’s so much, isn’t it?”</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>It’s just enough.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">Calum flashed her a grin. “It’s quite the dress,” he said, afraid that if he kept going he would start to speak of things other than the dress.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice peeked up at him from between her fingers. “I asked Vissenta if I could wear my cloak over it,” she mumbled.</p>
<p class="p1">He laughed, relaxing a little, in spite of himself. “And what did she say to that?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice laughed too, a ridiculous, huffing sort of noise, a laugh that Calum suspected wasn’t one she let out in public. “Beatrice,” she began, pitching her voice down in a poor imitation of Vissenta’s raspy alto tones. “It is rude to wear your outerwear to dinner. And here I thought you were the last word on etiquette.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum nudged her with his elbow. “Can’t argue with that.”</p>
<p class="p1">What was he <em>doing</em>? Hadn’t he just reminded himself over and over and over again that Beatrice wasn’t for flirting with? That Beatrice didn’t deserve any sort of heartache that might come from it? That <em>he</em> wasn’t sure he’d survive it?</p>
<p class="p1">And yet.</p>
<p class="p1">And yet, he continued. Because she’d pulled her hands away from her face, and she was smiling at him, and he wanted to lose himself in her soft, smiling eyes, even if - or maybe even though - it might be the last thing he’d do.</p>
<p class="p1">She paused in front of a large pair of doors that was equipped with several large, elaborate locks. “Oh! I forgot to ask Portia for the keys!” When Calum quirked a brow at her in question, she blushed and shrugged. “The library. I don’t know how long Vissenta will be with the countesses, but I’d like to look for a book to pass the time.” Her eyes darted down the hallway, then back to Calum. She bit her lip. “I’ll be right back.” And then she was taking off at a run.</p>
<p class="p1">Halfway down the hall, she slowed, and came to a stop, and looked over her shoulder at him. “You look very nice too,” she said, almost so softly that he didn’t hear. Without another word, she was gone again, off looking for Portia.</p>
<p class="p1">Calum wanted to follow her desperately, but Grier’s hand on his elbow brought him to a halt. “Calum. We have to talk <em>now</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">He rounded on his sister. “What is there to talk about, Grier?” He couldn’t even bring himself to use the old nickname. Not now. Maybe not ever again. “I never asked for any of this.”</p>
<p class="p1">“And I never wanted it for you!” Grier took him by both the shoulders. “Cal, please… I wouldn’t have. Not if I’d known.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum stepped away, shaking his head. “What exactly did you expect to happen?” He began to pace in the hallway. “Those stories we heard weren’t exactly full of happy endings, Grier.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Because everyone loves you!” The words fell, bitter and heavy, from Grier’s lips. She looked as if she might cry again. “Everyone always loves you, and even after I…” She licked her lips. “Even after, they still love you. They all adore you. And I’m just…” She clenched her fists. “I’m not for anyone to have. Even now.”</p>
<p class="p1">He stopped short. “Is that what this was about? You wanted someone to fall in love with you?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I want them to <em>want</em> to,” Grier shot back. “I want to be everything you’ve always been without even trying, Cal.” Her face was set, now, as hard and stony as a cliff face, as impossible to comprehend. “And now you’d have to try <em>not</em> to.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum’s stomach felt as if it had fallen to the floor. “I… what?”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier’s face twisted into something ugly, something foreign, something <em>other</em>, and Calum instinctively flinched back from the sight. “Why do you think everyone’s lining up to <em>fuck</em> you now?”</p>
<p class="p1">Too much.</p>
<p class="p1">It was all too much.</p>
<p class="p1">He thought he could at least know <em>himself</em>, even if he didn’t know his sister any longer, but now…</p>
<p class="p1">Now it seemed he didn’t even know where he ended and this damned cursed gift began.</p>
<p class="p1">He wanted to punch a wall. He wanted to punch himself, if he could. He wanted to <em>hurt</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">Instead, he set his jaw. “I’m going out for some air.” And without another word, he was gone, out into the gardens, away from the everything and the too much and the red-rimmed eyes of his sister.</p>
<p class="p1">He breathed in a deep, shuddering breath, slowing his steps from a run to a jog to a walk, and he wandered out into the carefully-arranged greenery and statuary of the Vesuvian palace gardens. It wasn’t a pine forest, but it would have to do.</p>
<p class="p1">He did what he always did back home: he followed the sound of water. Even if there was no river here for him to sit beside, there was some sort of running water - a fountain, perhaps - and he could at least stare into those ripples as he tried to make <em>sense</em> of it all.</p>
<p class="p1">When he arrived at the fountain, his heart was in his throat once more, because sitting at the fountain’s edge was none other than Beatrice Viano.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Beneath the Pause 'tween Words</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Eavesdropping was, perhaps, the most ladylike activity of all. When one was properly eavesdropping, one was unobtrusive, unnoticed, unvocal. It was, Beatrice thought wryly, the pinnacle of all the lessons her mother taught her about being a true lady.</p>
<p class="p1">She certainly never intended to eavesdrop on the after-dinner confab between the countesses and Vissenta. She really was looking for Portia in order to unlock the library, and she just so <em>happened</em> to walk past the drawing room, and the door just so <em>happened</em> to be open, and she just so <em>happened</em> to hear Vissenta - who was never a subtle woman, even on a good day, and certainly less so now that she was constantly irritable and unable to have wine with her dinner - speak a name that brought her to an abrupt halt.</p>
<p class="p1">“And Calum just found out?”</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Calum just found out what?</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice stopped just short of walking by the open door, knowing that if she cast any sort of shadow, she would be very much noticed, and she might not hear the answer to Vissenta’s question. And she very, <em>very</em> much wanted to hear the answer to the question.</p>
<p class="p1">Out of concern, of course. She would be concerned for anyone. Not just Calum.</p>
<p class="p1">“No wonder he was so short with Grier today,” came Nadia’s smooth, measured tones. Beatrice only detected the undercurrent of worry from her months acquainted with the countess, and even then it was difficult to pick up. “I would certainly be upset if I’d been bartered to the… what did you call them, my love?”</p>
<p class="p1">“The Folk,” Deirdra replied. Even spoken aloud, Beatrice could hear that capital F, could hear that these were some particularly revered, or feared, Folk.</p>
<p class="p1">She furrowed her brow. Could this have anything to do with the creatures Julian had mentioned hearing tales of? Calum had dismissed those as merely children’s stories, but from the way the three women in the room just beyond this cracked door were speaking, they were something more. Something ominous. Something to send a chill down her spine at Deirdra’s next words.</p>
<p class="p1">“If we cannot find a way to outsmart them in a month’s time, I fear the twins will face an uglier fate than Grier could have ever imagined.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice pressed her hands to her mouth to suppress her gasp. She began to walk backwards, carefully, grateful for her soft boots keeping her footsteps quiet. Then she heard her own name.</p>
<p class="p1">“Beatrice seems quite taken with the young man,” Nadia said. “When should we tell her?”</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Oh, that is nonsense!</em> Beatrice was sorely tempted to throw the door open and declare herself not in the least bit taken with anyone, least of all a man she’d just met the day before, but that would mean revealing that she’d been listening in, and that would have been very unladylike indeed.</p>
<p class="p1">“I’ll talk to her,” Vissenta replied. “What? Dee, I promise I will. Tonight, when we leave.” There was a shuffling sound, and then a sigh from Vissenta, who must have dropped to sit in one of the plush armchairs that littered the drawing room. “But in the meantime, we should discuss some more direct plans of action.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice wasn’t sure how much more she wanted to hear. She turned on her heel and began to walk, briskly, back the way she’d come, only to realize that she wasn’t entirely sure where she would be going in such a hurry. She still had no keys to the library, and she’d rather lost her appetite for a good book now.</p>
<p class="p1">With a huff, she took another turn, down the hall to where she knew her cloak was likely hung. When she spotted her dear, trusted old green wool friend, she took it down and wrapped it about her shoulders, immediately comforted, immediately at ease, and immediately certain of where she’d like to go.</p>
<p class="p1">Out into the evening she went, down a path her feet knew well, to sit by the fountain.</p>
<p class="p1">Whenever she needed to work out a particularly thorny problem, be it scientific or mathematical or even, gods forbid, <em>interpersonal</em>, she found that keeping her hands occupied was the simplest and most effective way to free her mind to do its work. As a child, she’d done this while learning needlepoint, even as she loathed the activity. Letting her mind wander had made those hours bearable, even if her embroidery never showed marked improvement. Later, when she’d left her mother’s house to live with her aunt, she learned the singular delight of creating intricate patterns out of materials other than needle and thread.</p>
<p class="p1">Water, for instance.</p>
<p class="p1">She perched at the lip of the fountain and ran her fingertips gently through the sparkling surface of the rippling water. A fine mist settled on the edge of her cloak from the splashing streams at the center, and she began by lifting those tiny droplets from the dark green wool, twisting them about in the air, until they began to coalesce into larger drops, and from large drops into orbs.</p>
<p class="p1">With both hands now, she pulled the orbs into a dance, twirling them about in simple patterns that gradually became more intricate. They weren’t unlike the tedious dances her mother made her learn as a teenager, for the balls and parties where she, as a young marriageable lady, would hopefully meet and impress a man well enough to become a respectably married lady. She hated the dances, as they were always with the most odious, tedious men, but she had to admit that there was poetry in the steps, if the dance were performed correctly. Or if they were performed by delicate beads of water that followed the twisting motions of her fingers.</p>
<p class="p1">As she worked, she began to think. <em>The Folk make deals,</em> she thought. <em>Not unlike what Vissenta and Deirdra have told me of the deal that Count Lucio made with the Devil.</em> Around and around the glistening droplets flew, now elongated into swirls and eddies around her hands, and still she thought, still she picked apart at the threads that she knew would eventually untangle. Oh, Vissenta would tell her later, if what she overheard was true, but she wanted to come as close to understanding <em>now</em>.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Children’s stories</em>, she thought. <em>Don’t we tell the children here to behave themselves or the Devil will come for them? And the Devil did come.</em> Faster, faster, until she’d built a gyre, steady interlocking discs of water that spun over her hands. <em>There’s truth to the things children believe. And it’s never the whole truth.</em></p>
<p class="p1">She was so close to her answer, she knew it, and she might have found it, too, if a voice hadn’t called her name.</p>
<p class="p1">“Beatrice?”</p>
<p class="p1">She looked up sharply, the orbs of water she’d been twisting in midair falling back into the fountain with a noisy splash. “Oh!” Water sprayed her arms and hands and face, and she brushed away the clinging droplets hovering from her hair, just out of her line of vision. She turned to see the newcomer, though she knew very well who it was.</p>
<p class="p1">The voice that spoke her name, in a brogue that emphasized the very first syllable, made something in her stomach begin to flutter. She knew that when she looked up to meet the face that matched that voice, her heart was going to start fluttering as well.</p>
<p class="p1">It was all so terribly inconvenient.</p>
<p class="p1">Still, good manners dictated that she ought to make proper eye contact, and smile, and acknowledge her new guest. “Calum,” she said, her voice only quivering a <em>little</em> bit, her cheeks only growing a <em>little</em> warm. Before she could even think about what she was doing, she pat her hand on the stone lip of the fountain. “Would you like to join me?”</p>
<p class="p1">His gaze on her was much less dazed than it had been all through dinner, which was puzzling. She was certain that there was nothing particularly special about this fountain, or these gardens, at least in a way that might give one a clearer head. Fresher air? Less wine, perhaps? The banquet hall hadn’t been particularly stuffy, and she hadn’t seen Calum drink very much at all. Or eat very much, come to think of it.</p>
<p class="p1">Of course, if he was dealing with some dire supernatural threat, she couldn’t blame him for lack of an appetite.</p>
<p class="p1">Only when he sat next to her and she could see where his shirt was unbuttoned at the top, to the point where she could see his collarbone and even a few wisps of dark, curling hair that crept up from his chest, did the real reason for Calum’s glazed expression at dinner strike her like lightning. She pulled her cloak just a bit tighter, wondering if her neckline really was so indecent, and wondering if she’d begun to stare at his own chest with such a blatant lack of decorum.</p>
<p class="p1">Oddly, she wasn’t insulted at the thought. She was beginning to contemplate loosening her cloak and letting it fall from her shoulders, in fact, because she now had a hypothesis, and what good was a hypothesis without proper scientific inquiry?</p>
<p class="p1">But then he looked into her eyes, and she decided that she could test this hypothesis on another occasion, if needs absolutely must. Because if he were to tear those sky-blue eyes away from hers for even an instant, she’d feel the loss keenly.</p>
<p class="p1">He smiled. “What are you doing out here?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice did her best to smile back. “Oh, it’s where I like to come think.” She trailed her fingers in the rippling pool once more. “I’ve always loved the water. And it loves me back, I think.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum looked into the fountain, the magical lights at the bottom dancing on his face and in his eyes. Beatrice felt her breath whoosh out of her in a rush at the sight; like this, she saw all the secret shadows of his face, the slight dimple in his chin, the small bump on the bridge of his nose, the delicate - delicate! on a man! - bow in the middle of his top lip. She might have leaned toward that face, but she still possessed at least <em>some</em> of her faculties, and she managed to hold herself back.</p>
<p class="p1">Still, if there was ever a good time to try kissing him, it would certainly be now.</p>
<p class="p1">She straightened. <em>What has gotten into you, Beatrice?</em> The voice was half her own and half her mother’s, and as much as she hated the thought, she knew that both sides of that voice were correct. What <em>had</em> gotten into her? She was <em>not</em> a woman who kissed every beautiful pair of lips that struck her fancy, and all the better for it! She prided herself on being sensible, above all else, and the fact that this man inspired her to such… such <em>foolishness</em>, such <em>lack of sense</em>… well, it ought to have been a mark against him.</p>
<p class="p1">Trouble was, the marks <em>for</em> him were starting to greatly outnumber those against.</p>
<p class="p1">His eyes met hers once more. “What were you doing, just now?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh!” Beatrice began the practiced motions without a second thought. “Just a simple bit of intention work, with a dash of manipulation.” At Calum’s blank look, she paused. “Have you… forgive me for asking, but have you seen much magic?”</p>
<p class="p1">He shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Doing that in Balochry would get you called a witch.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “Well, Calum, I <em>am</em> a witch.”</p>
<p class="p1">His face went very suddenly solemn. “They used to burn witches there.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice clapped her hands to her mouth in horror, and the water she’d called up into the air once more fell down with a splash. “They didn’t!”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum nodded, slowly. “A long time ago. Now they run them out of town and go visit their huts in the middle of the night when no one can see, asking for love potions and luck spells and the like.” He cocked his head, looking at Beatrice’s hands once more. “Could you do it again?”</p>
<p class="p1">Recovered enough from her shock, Beatrice nodded. “Of course.” For the third time she summoned the water into the air, first as mist, and then into fat droplets. She couldn’t help herself: the time, she did an extra bit of work to give each droplet a different colored glow, so that when she began to make them dance, they cast gentle, shimmering, rainbow-hued light. She smiled, staring at the dancing drops. “When I need to think, I like to give my hands something to do. This is like…”</p>
<p class="p1">“Like practicing music,” Calum said. “It’s beautiful.”</p>
<p class="p1">When Beatrice looked up, she saw that he wasn’t watching the water. Those eyes were on <em>her</em>, on her face, on her… oh, heavens, he was looking at her <em>lips</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>It’s only fair. You were just looking at his not moments ago.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">After a minute, Calum reached one hand out toward the dancing water droplets. He gently held his long, strong, slender fingers wide, moving his hand closer, and Beatrice shifted the water so the drops danced around his hand and between his outspread fingers. His face lit up with the same sort of wonder that she’d seen in her pupils, and she supposed that when it came to magic, he did still have that same childlike delight in it. His eyes flicked up to hers, and he was grinning now in pure, open glee. “This is incredible.”</p>
<p class="p1">She blinked. “I suppose it is, isn’t it?” She laughed. “Gods, I’ve done this for so long now that I’ve taken it for granted.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum shook his head in wonder, pulling his hand back. “It’s a gift.” He ran his hand through his black curls and gave her a smile that was almost shy. “I hear you invented that… that thing in the room. At the Rowdy Raven.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice brightened. “Oh, the shower!” She stopped spinning the drops of water around, but let them hover near her hands. “That wasn’t magic so much as it was a simple problem of engineering.” She began to flick and move her fingers, and the water droplets began to move in flow and formation to illustrate her point. “You see, with the aqueduct system already in place, all I had to do was work on a way to pipe water into the chamber and let it flow through means of a pump system.” She used one hand to trace the motion of a line of water. “You can see how, with just a little suction, and then of course using gravity to our advantage the rest of the way, there was very little magic needed in order to make it work!” She finally let all the drops fall into the pool, but gently this time, without so much as a splash. “Really, the most magic I put into place was for the heating system, but even that could be mechanized with a furnace, if Barth could remember to keep it stoked at all hours.”</p>
<p class="p1">She paused to take a breath, and when she did, she noticed that Calum was watching her with that same wide-eyed smile he’d had in the shop yesterday. She was too preoccupied to blush, though. “Did that make sense?”</p>
<p class="p1">He nodded, slowly. “I mean… mostly.” He was leaning toward her now, and he was looking at her lips again. “You could explain it again, though. I won’t mind.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice felt herself drawn toward him, leaning forward just as much as he was, and she was looking at his lips and wondering if perhaps Vissenta was right. She could have some fun, couldn’t she? It wouldn’t be so terrible if she were to—</p>
<p class="p1">“Beatrice!”</p>
<p class="p1">She sighed. Speaking of Vissenta.</p>
<p class="p1">“Beatrice, it’s time to go! I’ve got a doting husband who owes me a foot rub!” Vissenta turned the corner around a topiary, her eyes lighting up when she spotted Beatrice. “Oh, there you are!”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice stood. “I’ll have to explain another time, I’m afraid,” she said, blushing once more, barely able to meet Calum’s eyes as she thought about just what she might have done if Vissenta hadn’t arrived.</p>
<p class="p1">Calum stood next to her. “Do you… I mean.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, the same gesture Beatrice had seen from him this morning, and she realized that he was suddenly shy too, perhaps also suddenly aware of what might have happened. “I feel as if I owe you company for tea.”</p>
<p class="p1">She hoped that her face didn’t look as eager as she felt. “I am at the school tomorrow, I’m afraid, but I take an hour’s lunch at noon.” She bit her lip and smiled. “If you’d like to come round.”</p>
<p class="p1">Nearby, Vissenta cleared her throat. “She teaches at the school in Goldgrave,” she said loudly. “Converted Coliseum. Easy to find.” She took Beatrice’s arm. “Ready?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice patted Vissenta’s hand. “Of course.” She looked over her shoulder to smile at Calum. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”</p>
<p class="p1">He nodded. “See you tomorrow.”</p>
<p class="p1">In the borrowed carriage back to the shop, Beatrice was surprised to find that she just could not keep still. She tapped her foot, drummed her fingers on her knee, looked out the window at the moon in the night sky. It was only Vissenta’s coughing that brought her back down to earth.</p>
<p class="p1">“Vissenta, are you quite all right? That cough sounds dreadful.” When she looked over t the other woman with concern, she saw that Vissenta looked quite fine, and was staring at her with what could best be described as a full-face smirk. She brought her <em>eyebrows</em> into it, somehow, twisting them at the same angle as her mouth. Beatrice knit her own eyebrows together. “What is it?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta folded her arms. “Close to Calum, are we?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice tried her best to school her expression into one of worldly indifference. “And so what if I am?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta leaned forward. “How much did you hear outside of the drawing room?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice’s mouth fell open. “You… you knew I was there?”</p>
<p class="p1">Rolling her eyes, Vissenta waved one hand about in the air. “There were three clairvoyants in that room, sweetheart. We all knew. We just didn’t want to embarrass you.” She sighed. “So. What are your questions?”</p>
<p class="p1">Frowning, Beatrice propped her chin in her hand and looked out the window for a few minutes. When she finally spoke, she spoke slowly, carefully, still trying to find the last piece of the puzzle that had eluded her by the fountain. “What sort of deal do the Folk tend to make?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta shifted in her seat. “According to Dee, they’ll grant desires, but they play by their own twisted rules. The price is always… great.” She tapped her fingers on her belly and hummed. “They aren’t cursed. They just need our help if they want to get out of this mess.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice nodded. “I want to help.”</p>
<p class="p1">With a smile, Vissenta reached over to take her hand. “I know you do. It’s why I said I’d tell you. I know the wheels are already turning in that beautiful brain of yours.”</p>
<p class="p1">Smiling, Beatrice looked down at their joined hands and shook her head. “Not beautiful. I just like to use it, is all.” She looked back up. “Does this change things?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Change what?” Vissenta’s eyes widened. “Change things with… <em>oh</em>!” She let go of Beatrice’s hand to clap hers together gleefully. “Oh, you <em>do</em> want to kiss him!”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice tried to scoff, she did, but she knew there was no hiding it from Vissenta. “Should I be kissing someone who needs help escaping a contract with a supernatural deity? It seems ill-advised, to me.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta leaned forward. “Sweetheart, when I met my husband, he’d made a deal with a buff bird man to gain the ability to heal any wound. I am the wrong person to ask.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Or possibly the right one,” Beatrice giggled. Her spirits couldn’t stay high for long, though. She gave Vissenta another worried look. “What do I do?”</p>
<p class="p1">The carriage was slowing to a stop at the shop. As she stepped out of the carriage and shut the door behind her, Vissenta looked back through the window at Beatrice. “You do what’s right,” she said. “The rest kind of… falls into place, with enough luck.” She gave the younger woman a significant look. “It all depends on if you want to take the chance.”</p>
<p class="p1">When Vissenta signaled the driver and the carriage jerked back into motion, on the shorter journey to Goldgrave, Beatrice sat back, and she decided… perhaps she would take the chance.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Send My Life A-Whirling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <em>He’s back home.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>He’s playing in the corner booth at Ceothail House, one of those songs where he’s got his session spoons out rather than the drum, one of the few times he gets to sing, and he’s singing about meeting and kissing a girl, one that always makes the girls watching practically swoon. Some of the boys, too.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>He’s looking at the small crowd of people as he sings and he sees her face. Here, of all places. That heart-shaped face, those hazel eyes, her soft, sweet smile. She’s here. Beatrice is here.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>He’s sitting by the riverbank with Beatrice, a place he knows so well, and he wants to know her just as well. They’re nestled in the gnarled roots of a tree, his back against the wide trunk and her back against his chest, and he’s brushing her hair aside so he can better see that heart-shaped mark on her shoulder. He’s kissing that mark, and she’s sighing and smiling.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>But then she tenses. She looks around, pushing away from him, and he can see her brow creased with worry. “Calum?” Her voice pitches up in panic. “Calum, where are you?”</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>When he opens his mouth to answer, a leaf falls.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>He’s not sitting against the roots now.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>No, his legs are those roots, his skin is like bark, his arms can’t move, and he’s not touching her anymore.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>She’s weeping and he tries to reach for her again, but he can’t, and he would weep too, if a tree could weep.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em> When he tries to call her name, the only sound that comes out is like the wind through the leaves.</em>
</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">Calum woke in a cold sweat.</p>
<p class="p1">He stared at the canopy above him for a moment, disoriented, the sight of the gauzy fabric still so strange and new. With a sigh and a pass of his hands over his eyes, the memory of the day before began to trickle back in, blessedly taking the place of the nightmare he’d just woken from. Then again, the day before was likely what shaped the entire dream.</p>
<p class="p1">He sat up in the dim pre-dawn light. No going back to sleep now, no matter how comfortable this bed was. Throwing the bedding back and swinging his legs out, he took a moment to let his toes wiggle in the soft carpeting on the floor, letting himself marvel at the sheer dumb luck of how he ended up in this room, in this <em>palace</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">But was it really luck?</p>
<p class="p1">Damn it.</p>
<p class="p1">As he dressed - once more in the fine clothes the countesses had provided, and he wished he could appreciate it, but he missed his homespun shirt and canvas trousers that his ma had <em>insisted</em> he learn how to mend himself, and dearly hoped that they hadn’t been disposed of - he stared out the window. The room overlooked the gardens, and he could see the fountain below where he’d watched Beatrice control water as easy as breathing.</p>
<p class="p1">And she didn’t even seem to realize how extraordinary it was.</p>
<p class="p1">He knelt down to lace his boots - thankfully, he’d managed to keep hold of the ones he’d come here with, and the leather made soft by wear rather than design felt like home - and considered Beatrice Viano. He might be considering Beatrice Viano - her smile, her sincerity, her hands as they made water dance in the air right before his eyes - for a while yet, if he was honest with himself about it. And this was, considering the circumstances, the last thing he needed to be doing.</p>
<p class="p1">He ran his hands through his hair as he stood. <em>Damn it.</em></p>
<p class="p1">The hall was quiet and empty, and Calum wasn’t entirely sure where he should go. Finding something to eat might be the best start, but as he ambled down the softly-lit corridor in the direction of the dining room where they’d all gathered the night before, he realized that he didn’t know where the kitchen was, and where the food actually came from. <em>Probably supposed to ask the staff,</em> he mused, but even dressed as he was, he absolutely could not bring himself to go ordering other people about. Not when he was perfectly capable of doing it himself.</p>
<p class="p1">“Calum?”</p>
<p class="p1">He stopped short at an open doorway. It wasn’t the dining room he stood before, but a smaller chamber, much less grand and imposing, and when he leaned his head in at the sound of his name, he saw Deirdra sitting in one of a circle of soft cushioned armchairs. There was a tray of pastries on the small table before her, and a teapot, and some elaborate silver thing, urn-shaped, with spouts and spigots from which the countess was drawing steaming water to fill the teapot. She smiled at him and beckoned him forward. “Come sit. Is tea all right, or would you prefer coffee?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Erm.” Calum hesitated for a moment, but when Deirdra tilted her chin downward and lifted her eyebrows, even as she continued to smile, he moved as quickly as he could to join her. He could hear his ma’s voice in his head, admonishing him for having poor manners, and as he sat down across from Deirdra he shook his head and did his best to smile. “Tea is just fine, thank you.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Wonderful.” Deirdra poured a cup and pushed it toward him, and he could see that the tea was deep red in color, and had a familiar, malty scent that wafted up toward him, along with the smell of currants and vanilla. “My favorite blend,” she said. “I have it imported from Caer Ellig. One of the things I miss most from home.” She then offered up a small plate of pastries. “I’d suggest the cheese-filled ones, or the chocolate.” She flashed him a dimpled grin. “Or one of each.”</p>
<p class="p1">Gratefully, Calum did as she said, taking one of each pastry to sit on the empty plate before him. He bit down first into the whorl-shaped one with soft sweet cheese at its center. He couldn’t help his groan of appreciation. “You eat like this every day?”</p>
<p class="p1">“With relish.” Deirdra leaned back with her teacup, rearranging her peacock-hued satin robe over her knees as she uncrossed and recrossed her legs. “Bad dreams?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum started, unsure at first of how the countess could have known, until he recalled what she’d told him and Grier the day before of her particular set of precognitive skills. “You could say that.”</p>
<p class="p1">Deirdra nodded. “I’d be surprised if you hadn’t had them.” She picked up her own pastry and chewed, thoughtfully. Her gaze wandered toward the window, where the light of the early morning was growing steadily brighter. After a moment of silence, she looked back to Calum. “You might feel more at home in the workshop tonight. There are living quarters attached.” She sipped her tea and smiled. “Simpler. Should remind you of home.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum’s mouth hung open for a few seconds before he remembered himself. “You’ve… already built them?”</p>
<p class="p1">The countess waved a hand. “The structures already stood.” Her deep blue eyes twinkled. “But as I like to say, the Devil works hard, but Nadia Satrinava works harder.”</p>
<p class="p1">All Calum could think to do was drink his tea. It was strong, bracing, with just enough sweetness from the vanilla, and with a pang, he realized: he <em>did</em> miss home. The tea in the McPhee house wasn’t nearly as fine as this blend, but it had the same backbone, and in this moment, he might have given anything to be back there.</p>
<p class="p1">Then again, if he was back there, he wouldn’t have met—</p>
<p class="p1">“Beatrice is a lovely person, isn’t she?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum nearly choked on his tea. He coughed, trying to hide the spluttering noise, even as he felt his face grow heated. “Very lovely,” he finally managed.</p>
<p class="p1">Deirdra’s laugh was light and melodic as she waved her hand and picked up another pastry. “Oh, I’m just teasing you. I might have a gift for dreams and auras, but I can assure you, I’m not a full-blown psychic.” She winked. “Though I have to say, it’s quite obvious that you think she’s lovely, whenever you look at her.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum didn’t have a good answer to this. He just smiled, sheepishly, and shrugged. “Weak for a pretty face, I guess.” He tried to keep his voice light, tried to distance himself from the truth of the matter, even as Deirdra peered at him with those inscrutably deep eyes of hers.</p>
<p class="p1">She simply nodded, though. “Aren’t we all?” She delicately licked her fingers clean of the powdered sugar left behind by her chocolate-filled pastry and stood. “Now, shall we have a look at where you’ll be working? I’d like to make a list of any special tools and materials you might require.”</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">It was a dizzying morning, when all was said and done. Calum instantly felt at home in the relatively modest space that Deirdra showed him - a converted carriage house, she explained, one of several that littered the grounds from the former count’s days of needing more storage for his frivolities than even the grand palace provided - and was secretly delighted to see that his old clothes had been cleaned and folded and laid on the bed in the back room. “Now, we do expect you to work,” Deirdra informed him. “To keep your mind off things, first and foremost. And because Nadia already has a list of potential buyers for any instruments you might craft.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum raised an eyebrow. “There’s that many bodhran players in Vesuvia?”</p>
<p class="p1">Deirdra laughed. “Hardly.” She unfolded her arms. “You could call it, perhaps, a rise of interest in folk art.” She ran one hand lightly over a table, empty now, but a place Calum could already imagine as a place to set up a lathe. “Believe me, I know how frustrating it can be to have your home seen as…” Her lips twisted in a grimace for just a split second. “Quaint. Exotic. Primitive.” When she raised her eyes from the table to meet his, there was an edge to them, something cool and hard, and Calum saw fine lines around her eyes, and he knew just what she meant. She flashed him a grin. “But when you learn how to, shall I say, <em>capitalize</em> on that interest, it all becomes much more tolerable.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum had a feeling that he and Countess Deirdra Carew-Satrinava were going to get on quite well.</p>
<p class="p1">He’d been so engrossed in writing and rewriting the list of materials and tools he’d need that he nearly missed lunchtime, had Deirdra not come back to the workshop to let him know the hour. “Will you be joining us at the palace?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum felt his face go warm once more. “I, ah… I might’ve promised Beatrice that I’d…”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, say no more.” Deirdra’s smile was bright, mischievous, and altogether too knowing, but Calum supposed there wasn’t much he could hide from her. “If you’d like, I could call for a carriage to take you to Goldgrave.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Directions would be just fine,” Calum blurted out. “Don’t mind walking, myself.”</p>
<p class="p1">Nodding with approval, Deirdra took his pencil and tore a scrap of paper from the sheet he’d been writing on. She sketched out a small map and handed it back to him before she took the rest of the paper, the part with his meandering excuse for a list scribbled all over. “I’ll take this to Nadia. Go, see the city.”</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">And see the city Calum did.</p>
<p class="p1">When he arrived at the school in Goldgrave, his heart was threatening to hammer right out of his ribcage. The exertion of the walk, he tried to tell himself, because he <em>had</em> been in an awful hurry, to make sure he wasn’t late.</p>
<p class="p1">To make sure he could spend as much of an hour with Beatrice as was humanly possible.</p>
<p class="p1">The woman who opened the door of the school in order to let out a stream of laughing, chattering children of varying ages was not Beatrice, but she bore more than a passing resemblance. Her hair was gray, and her face was lined, but her eyes were just as kind, and she smiled broadly at Calum. “Oh, hello, young man. Can we help you today?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Calum!” Beatrice was behind the older woman, bright-eyed and smiling, and she waved over the other woman’s shoulder. “Aunt Cora, this is my new friend I’ve told you about.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh!” Cora beamed. “Beatrice, dear, you didn’t tell me your new friend was so <em>handsome</em>!”</p>
<p class="p1">Thankfully, Beatrice did enough blushing for the both of them. Calum could only grin at her as she ducked beneath her aunt’s arm and fastened her cloak about her shoulders. “It didn’t seem like a crucial detail!” She could barely meet Calum’s gaze, but her smile was genuine, and the fact that she had to peer at him from the corners of her eyes was all the more endearing. “I promise I’ll be back before the start of afternoon lessons.”</p>
<p class="p1">Cora was still smiling up at Calum. “Oh, take your time, take your time.” She shut the door behind her as she moved past the pair of them to stand watch over her charges in the square just beyond the schoolhouse. “So lovely to meet you, Calum.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Pleasure’s all mine,” he replied, and at the edge of his vision he could see Beatrice looking up at him and smiling wide. He turned to face her once more. “So, where to?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice clasped her hands together as she looked up at him, still grinning. “Have you ever had panino con porchetta?”</p>
<p class="p1">Slowly, Calum shook his head. “You’ll have to enlighten me.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh!” Beatrice was practically bouncing on her toes. “We have to go to the market square. It’s not all pumpkin bread here, you know.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I don’t know,” Calum replied, slipping into the same easy cadence of conversation they’d had the night before, when Beatrice was so focused on something that she loved that she forgot to blush, forgot to hide behind her hair, forgot to look at him with that shyness that seemed to be her default state. “But I’d be honored for you to show me.”</p>
<p class="p1">And so to the market square they went, Beatrice excitedly explaining the culinary delights in store all the way, though Calum wouldn’t have been able to recite any of it back if he’d been asked. It wasn’t for lack of listening; he was, in fact, doing nothing <em>but</em> listening, as attentively as he possibly could, but something about the way she looked over her shoulder at him and smiled made all of his short-term memory evaporate into nothing, the words disappearing like the morning mist over the mountains. All he could do was smile at the back of her head as she wove through the ever-growing crowd.</p>
<p class="p1">With a sharp pang, he remembered the image from his dream. Of her hair, of her back, of the way she turned around in panic when he was no longer there.</p>
<p class="p1">His chest tightened and he nearly reached forward to take her hand, just so he wouldn’t lose her.</p>
<p class="p1">She came to a stop soon, though, and began chatting brightly with the owner of the stall they’d come to. The portly old man’s eyes crinkled at the sight of Beatrice, and it took Calum a moment to register that they were both speaking a language he wasn’t familiar with. He supposed it was Vesuvian, judging by how much he’d heard of it around them on their walk, as opposed to the Common tongue that was the only thread uniting the jumble of people in this melting-pot of a city. The stall owner and Beatrice continued their chatter, and Calum’s attention was only brought back to focus - as opposed to the lingering unfocus he seemed to have as he looked at Beatrice’s profile - at the sound of his name, accented in Vesuvian. He blinked and saw that the proprietor was smiling up at him and nodding, his hand extended in greeting. “Nice to meet you,” the man said, and Calum took his hand and nodded, as Beatrice looked on and smiled.</p>
<p class="p1">Soon, Beatrice was in possession of a paper sack that was stained with grease spots along the bottom, and she was beaming up at Calum. “Come on. I know the best spot in the Temple District to watch the gondolas.”</p>
<p class="p1">All he could do was follow. All he wanted to do was follow.</p>
<p class="p1">They talked, as much as they could, as Beatrice led him along the winding cobblestone streets. “Have you always lived in Vesuvia?” He was surprised at how quickly she moved, even on legs that were surely shorter than his own, and he was struggling to keep up.</p>
<p class="p1">“I was born in the South End,” she said, her eyes darting around as she wove through the steady stream of people that milled and meandered about them. “My…” She huffed through her nose, delicately, frowning. “My mother raised my sister and I all on her own. A great point of pride for her, until my sister ran away.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum knew he shouldn’t pry, but the next question fell from his lips before he could pull it back in. “And does she still live there? Your mother, I mean.”</p>
<p class="p1">“The Plague took her,” she said, her tone clipped. “Aunt Cora and I were lucky to survive.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’m sorry.” Calum fell silent, then, sorry to have upset her, sorry to have brought up anything so unpleasant, hoping he hadn’t marred the day already.</p>
<p class="p1">In silence, Beatrice led them along a street that butted up against one of the canals that criss-crossed the city. They followed the flow of the people and the flow of the water until they were at the serene stone buildings of what Calum supposed was the Temple District.</p>
<p class="p1">“Up this way.” Beatrice climbed a set of polished marble stairs and disappeared behind an archway, and when Calum turned the corner on her heels, he saw that they were in an alcove next to a bridge.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice had settled down at the edge, letting her feet dangle into the wide open air below. As Calum sat down next to her, he noticed a small brown rabbit by Beatrice’s knee. The same rabbit he’d seen when he ran into her that first day. “Well now, who’s this?” He gave Beatrice and the rabbit ample space, not wishing to disturb either, even as Beatrice was unwrapping something that smelled decadently fried and fatty to hand over to him.</p>
<p class="p1">“This is Bramble,” she said, giving the rabbit a gentle pat between the ears. “She’s my familiar.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Your what?” Calum held up the sandwich that Beatrice had given him and peered at it, then shrugged as he took a bite. The crunch of the crusty bread against the sweet, savory, bursting juiciness of the fatty meat within caused him to let out a groan. “Oh, fucking <em>shite</em>, that’s good.” He cut an embarrassed glance at Beatrice. “‘M sorry,” he said around the mouthful of food. “Bad manners.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice tried to give him a disapproving look, he could tell, but the shine in her eyes betrayed her. “I told you that you absolutely had to try it, didn’t I?” Before he could respond, she turned her attention back to Bramble. “She’s my familiar. My… companion.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum took another bite, resisting the urge to moan again at the taste of the crispy-yet-chewy filling of the sandwich. He chewed slowly, instead, and looked out over the canal. Finally, he spoke again. “So it’s not all black cats that you witches have?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice pressed a hand to her chest, looking genuinely affronted. “A superstition and a <em>ridiculous</em> stereotype! And actually, historically, the traditional witches familiar <em>is</em> a rabbit…” She trailed off when she saw the corner of his mouth twitch up in a smile. “Oh.” She blushed. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Only a little.” Calum looked down at Bramble and nodded solemnly. “It’s good to meet you, Bramble.”</p>
<p class="p1">“You can pet her, if you like.” Beatrice was suddenly shy again, looking down at her hands, busying herself with unwrapping another small parcel from the bag.</p>
<p class="p1">Wiping his fingers on his trousers first - <em>suppose those’ll have to be cleaned</em> - Calum held out a hand to the rabbit, letting her twitch her nose at him and approach him in her own time. When Bramble finally brought her small head closer to his hand, rubbing the side of her jaw against his fingers, and then the top of her head, he smiled and stroked at the base of her ears. “Discerning little thing, isn’t she?”</p>
<p class="p1">When he looked back up at Beatrice, her eyes were wide and glittering, and her lips were slightly parted. She took a breath and blinked and smiled. “She’s the best judge of character I know.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum huffed. “Are you so sure about that?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Of course I am!” Beatrice held up the package she’d been unwrapping. “Zeppole?”</p>
<p class="p1">They ate the lightly sweetened, impossibly fluffy balls of fried dough in silence, watching a gondola pass beneath their feet, letting the peace linger, and Calum was surprised to realize that he wasn’t… <em>fidgeting</em>. He’d always been a little twitchy, a little uneasy, always looking for something to do with his hands, which was why he often at least kept one of his many bodhran sticks in his back pocket, just so he could take it out to twirl it between his fingers. But here, for a moment or two, he just… sat.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice was the first to break the silence. “Tell me about Balochry.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum leaned back on his hands, staring up at the arched ceiling above them. “What’s there to tell?”</p>
<p class="p1">He could hear Beatrice shifting, neatly folding the scraps of paper that had held their lunch into squares and tucking them into the sack, which she also carefully folded. “All I’ve ever known is Vesuvia,” she replied. “I love to hear about other places.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum tilted his head to look at her. She was looking up at him, patient, smiling, her head cocked to one side as she waited for his reply. He pursed his lips in thought. “Well, what do you know of Caer Ellig?”</p>
<p class="p1">Nodding slowly, Beatrice turned to look back out to the canal beneath them. “Deirdra’s home. She said it’s… it’s so <em>green</em>, more than anything else.”</p>
<p class="p1">“She’s right.” Calum was looking at Beatrice’s cloak, thinking of how the color reminded him of the needles of the pines. “Caer Ellig is more in the foothills, but it’s all more like than not. Seeing the sun rise over the mountain…” He couldn’t help but sigh. “Never been an early riser, myself, but sometimes the mood strikes.” He was drumming his fingers now, trying to find the right words, trying to paint a picture that did his home justice. “It’s the mist, that’s what makes it different up there. Like the trees are… like they’re letting out a breath they’ve been holding all night.”</p>
<p class="p1">Of course, those trees held more breath than he could have imagined.</p>
<p class="p1">He sat back up straight, laced his fingers together to keep from tapping them, tried to keep his wits about him as the rest of his dream the night before all came rushing back to him.</p>
<p class="p1">“It sounds beautiful,” Beatrice said softly. She was looking down at her own knotted fingers, her brow furrowed. “Beautiful and haunting.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It is that.”</p>
<p class="p1">She turned toward him, suddenly. “I know, Calum.”</p>
<p class="p1">He blinked. “You know… what, exactly?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice shook her head. “I know about…” Her lips twisted to the side, and her nose wrinkled, not unlike the way Bramble’s did in that same moment, and Calum might have laughed at the sight if he didn’t find it all so achingly endearing.</p>
<p class="p1">If he didn’t think about the fact that he hoped, if he held a hand out to cup Beatrice’s cheek, she might lean into him too.</p>
<p class="p1">Her eyes were on his once more. “Vissenta told me what Deirdra told her, last night. About… about you, and Grier, and why you’ve come here.”</p>
<p class="p1">His heart sank. There was no way she could want to lean into him now, not if she knew all of this, not if she was aware that there was something so dark and dire hanging over his head, and he wanted to stand and leave and thank her for the company and try to keep from hurting her any more than he surely already had simply by <em>being</em> here, and—</p>
<p class="p1">Her fingers rested on his, lightly, and all his rational thought was gone once more. “I want to help,” she said. “I want you to see the sun rise over the mountain again.”</p>
<p class="p1">He thought that he might have stopped breathing for a moment, but it all came back in a rush, along with something <em>else</em>, something deeper, and he moved his thumb to stroke hers, lightly. “Sounding pretty sure of things, there.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice smiled and let out a soft laugh. “I can say, with every confidence, that Vissenta is one of the most stubborn people I have met in my life, and if she and Deirdra and Nadia are all on the task…” She pulled her hand away, suddenly, as if the feel of his beneath hers had burned her. “Well.” She folded her hands in her lap. “I feel sorry for whoever these Folk might be.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum couldn’t help but laugh too. “That stubborn?”</p>
<p class="p1">Fervently, Beatrice nodded. “You don’t understand. I came to apprentice for Vissenta because I’d heard about what she did…” She shook her head. “It sounds absurd, I know, but what she and Deirdra did to bind the Devil…”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum let out a low whistle. “So what Grier heard was true.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice raised her eyebrows. “What did Grier hear?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum shook his head, looking down, hunching his shoulders and resting his elbows on his knees. “Some nonsense about magicians and gods.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s not nonsense!” Beatrice’s sharp tone made Calum look at her, surprised, and he could see that her gentle gaze had gone stormy. “There are forces that exist whether you believe in them or not, Calum McPhee, and I for one want to face them head-on.” He must have looked shocked, because her face softened once more. “It takes all of us. Together.”</p>
<p class="p1">He frowned. “Even the one who got us into this mess?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice leaned over, and her hand was on his once more, fingertips just lightly brushing his knuckles. “Especially her.” She looked almost… pained. “Your sister loves you. I might have only known you for two days, but I can see it.”</p>
<p class="p1">He laughed without mirth. “As good a judge of character as Bramble, are you?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Impeccable.” She was leaning closer, her eyes earnest as they stared into his. “Trust me. I could tell you at great length about siblings who don’t love each other. Don’t ever take it for granted.”</p>
<p class="p1">She was so close.</p>
<p class="p1">She was… <em>so close</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">He could smell violets.</p>
<p class="p1">He could smell violets and he could see nothing but green flecked with brown and gold, like the ground beneath the trees on a warm spring day, and he was leaning closer.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>She</em> was leaning closer.</p>
<p class="p1">In the distance, a bell tolled.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice sat back with a start. “Goodness!” She scrambled to let go of his hand, to push back from where she sat at on the ledge, to shove herself up to standing. “I should have been back at the school ages ago!”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum swung his legs around and stood as well, inwardly cursing the bell that rang so insistently as it marked the hour. “Let me walk you back.”</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Grier wasn’t at dinner.</p>
<p class="p1">The countesses both kept up the conversation well enough, asking Calum how he’d enjoyed seeing more of the city, and what they could do to help make his stay more comfortable, but he was restless. Impatient. Beatrice’s words still whispered through his mind, like the rushing of a gentle stream, and all he wanted was to speak to his sister.</p>
<p class="p1">Deirdra was the first to mention Grier’s conspicuous absence. “The poor girl has been tired all day,” she said, giving Calum a significant look. “I think that perhaps she could do with a kind word.”</p>
<p class="p1">Nadia folded her hands, looking from her wife to their guest, and nodded. “Perceptive as ever, my love.” She gave Deirdra a kiss on the cheek and smiled. “Shall we all retire?”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier was still in her guest room, and Calum walked down the hall as slowly as he could manage, still unsure of what he might say. <em>I forgive you for selling my soul to ancient powers beyond our control?</em></p>
<p class="p1">Forgiveness felt a little hard to come by, if he put it that way.</p>
<p class="p1">Even at his unhurried pace, he reached the painted wood door of Grier’s room eventually. He waited for a moment longer, drawing it out as long as he could, then sighed and lifted one hand to knock. “Grier?”</p>
<p class="p1">There was no answer.</p>
<p class="p1">He knocked a little louder, leaned in closer, until his mouth was nearly at the jamb. “Rie?”</p>
<p class="p1">There was the sound of sniffling, and shuffling, and footsteps, and a few seconds later, the golden knob turned and he was face-to-face with his sister.</p>
<p class="p1">She really did look a right mess. She must have fallen asleep in the clothes she’d put on the night before, and without the benefit of brushing, her hair was sticking out at odd angles that would have made Calum laugh, were it not for Grier’s swollen eyes and splotchy, tear-stained face. She frowned at him, trying her best to look menacing. “What do <em>you</em> want.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum sighed and shuffled his feet. “I wanted to come say sorry.”</p>
<p class="p1">He <em>thought</em> this was the correct thing to say, but it must not have been, because Grier burst into fresh tears. Still, she stepped back from the door, opening it wider, and he took the signal to walk in and take a seat at the edge of the bed.</p>
<p class="p1">Grier sat next to him, sniffling. “I should be saying sorry to you,” she muttered.</p>
<p class="p1">Gingerly, Calum put one arm around her shoulder. “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt my feelings if you did.”</p>
<p class="p1">The snorting laugh that Grier let out gave him some hope. She wiped furiously at her eyes. “Fine. I am sorry.” She turned her head to look at him. “I’ve been sorry for the past seven years.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum gave her a squeeze. “Listen, Rie…” He took a deep breath. “We’re all each other’s got, aren’t we?”</p>
<p class="p1">She sagged against him, still sniffling. “Unfortunately.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Well.” Calum leaned his cheek against the top of Grier’s head and sighed. “Then we better make sure we both get through it, yeah?”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier nodded. “I’ll do anything,” she whispered.</p>
<p class="p1">“Good lord, Grier.” Calum pulled away, took his sister by the shoulders, and looked very seriously into her watery eyes. “Haven’t you learned that you absolutely should <em>not</em> try to do anything?”</p>
<p class="p1">Her laugh was louder this time, and Calum knew: Beatrice had been right. He shouldn’t take this for granted.</p>
<p class="p1">Grier stood to cross the room, to a table where a pitcher of water and a glass sat. Rather than pour herself some to drink, she poured a little of the water into her palm and splashed it on her face. “So where have you been all day?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum shrugged. “Oh, Deirdra showed me my workshop. Ma would be green with envy.”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier nodded. “I saw mine, too. Wish we could bring ma and da here to see it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“But then they’d want to take over,” Calum reminded her.</p>
<p class="p1">She laughed. “That they would.” She shook her head. “Some kind of luck, eh?” This time, when she tilted the water pitched, it was to pour a glass of water, which she gulped down in seconds. “The job of a lifetime, and we’ve got a month to enjoy it.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum shook his head. “Rie, I think they might actually be able to help.”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier sat down and stared at herself in the polished mirror hanging on the wall. She frowned and tried to comb through her curls with her fingers, pausing at the white streak, which she twisted in one hand. “You weren’t the one who dealt with them,” she whispered. “The Folk. You don’t know, Cal.”</p>
<p class="p1">He shook his head. “But Beatrice said—“</p>
<p class="p1">Grier turned around and raised one eyebrow. “Beatrice, hm?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum held up his hands. “What?”</p>
<p class="p1">The look on Grier’s face was sly, knowing, almost <em>too</em> knowing. “Nothing. She seems smart. Level head on her shoulders.”</p>
<p class="p1">It was Calum’s turn to raise a brow. “And what does that mean, exactly?”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier shrugged. “Oh, just that she seems too smart to fall victim to <em>your</em> nonsense.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum’s mood soured in an instant. “Not if what you said is true,” he mumbled, staring out toward the night-dark window.</p>
<p class="p1">His sister stood and walked back toward him, stopping just short of arm’s length, and she folded her arms, her shoulders hunched over and her eyes cast down. “Cal… I didn’t mean it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“But it’s true, isn’t it?”</p>
<p class="p1">She shook her head fervently. “It’s not. I swear it.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum finally looked back at Grier, his lips twisted up in the pretense of a smile. “Maybe one day I’ll believe it.”</p>
<p class="p1">And with that, he stood to go.</p>
<p class="p1">He did want to believe it. He wanted to believe that the way Beatrice looked at him was genuine. As he stepped out into the cool of the evening and walked across the palace grounds, he wanted to believe that she might want to see him again, and not just because of whatever strange magic hung over his head. As he opened the door of the workshop - <em>his</em> workshop, <em>his </em>space, it was still all too good to be true - he hoped that maybe Beatrice really only did want to be his friend.</p>
<p class="p1">It would hurt her less, in the end.</p>
<p class="p1">He almost missed the small envelope on the table as he crossed the room. Maybe it was where his mind lay, maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe it was some strange magic, but as he walked by, he thought for a moment he smelled violets.</p>
<p class="p1">He looked down at the table and saw the blue envelope, the same shade as the one Deirdra pulled from her desk the day before as she wrote her dinner invitation. On the outside was her elegant, swooping hand, and he read: <em>A message came for you after dinner.</em></p>
<p class="p1">Calum nearly ripped the envelope open and tore the parchment inside in his haste.</p>
<p class="p1">The scent of violets hadn’t been imagined - it must be on everything Beatrice Viano touched, for in small, neat script on the square of paper in his hands, he read: <em>Same time tomorrow? -B</em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. I've Got All That I Can Take</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Calum came to lunch every day that week.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice didn’t know why she was so surprised, or so delighted and giddy every time she saw him walking up the street. She’d invited him, after all, and he was nothing if not polite. He was also excellent company, as it turned out, and after spending her days speaking to children aged five to sixteen, and then to her aunt, aged sixty, she found that she quite welcomed the company and conversation of someone her own age.</p>
<p class="p1">That was certainly the only reason she treasured his lunchtime visits. He was not on her mind at any other time of the day whatsoever. She was certainly not thinking of him now, as she gave a science lesson, her last lesson of the afternoon, and last of the week, to the handful of her eldest pupils who had their sights set on a university education one day.</p>
<p class="p1">“And so, the third most common element we might find in a limestone-enriched substrate is…” She turned from the blackboard, where she’d been filling in symbols on a crudely-drawn periodic table. “Anyone?”</p>
<p class="p1">Blank stares all around. She sighed, and noticed that her brightest student, a young lady named Rowan Bellandi, was looking rather conspicuously at something beneath her desk, rather than the lesson at hand. Beatrice was loath to embarrass any of her students in front of their peers, but she made a mental note to speak with Miss Bellandi after school about whatever she might have been reading beneath her desk. It had grown into quite a distracting habit for her, and Beatrice would hate to see her do poorly on her examinations.</p>
<p class="p1">She clapped her hands together, noting with satisfaction that Rowan’s attention snapped up at the sound. “The element is, of course, Calum — I mean, <em>calcium</em>.” She spun around as quickly as she could, hoping that no one had heard her slip-up, though judging by the titters behind her, at least one or two of the girls had noticed.</p>
<p class="p1">With a decisive sweep of the chalk, she wrote the letters - Ca - in their appropriate place on the chart, and with relief heard the sound of the main square bell tolling three. “Now, if I could have all of you fill in your own tables over the weekend, <em>with proper weights, please</em>, that is the only homework I shall require.” She picked up a damp cloth and wiped her dusty fingers on it, looking over her shoulder just in time to meet Rowan’s eyes as the girl was packing her satchel. “Miss Bellandi, could I have a word?”</p>
<p class="p1">When the young lady came to stand before Beatrice’s desk at the front of the classroom, Beatrice folded her arms and pursed her lips. “As much as I treasure your love for the written word, Rowan, I have to ask that you save your reading for your hours outside of school.” She held out one hand. “May I see the book, please?”</p>
<p class="p1">Rowan went red-faced. “Oh, no, ma’am, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again!” She clutched her satchel tightly to her chest, but when Beatrice simply raised one eyebrow, she sighed in defeat and unbuckled it to withdraw a slim volume. “Please don’t tell mama. Or Vita.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice took the book - a softcover one, bound in plain paper, by the looks of it one of the rather scandalous novelettes that were popular with young ladies - and peered at the cheaply-embossed cover. “Liberated this one from your sister’s collection, did you?” She held the book up to the light streaming in from the window. “‘The Elfin Balladeer?’”</p>
<p class="p1">Rowan shuffled her feet, unable to meet Beatrice’s eyes. “It’s the latest Firebrand. Well, one of the two newest ones.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I see.” Beatrice thumbed through the pages, pausing briefly when she landed upon a rather lavish description of the male romantic lead that was so common in these volumes. <em>His was a lovely face, strong of jaw but delicate of feature, his curls black as a raven’s wing, with a curious streak of white at the front that only served to draw more attention to the bright blue eyes beneath. When he turned toward me, his chest bare, I nearly swooned into those strong arms…</em> She snapped the book shut. “Good gracious. Are all of them like this?”</p>
<p class="p1">The younger lady nodded. “Everyone’s been so interested in the new palace musicians, ever since they showed up, and Miss Louisa Schreiber came up with a pair of new books as quick as you please.” She timidly reached a hand out. “Could I…?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice handed the book back. “Only if you promise to read these on your own time, Rowan.”</p>
<p class="p1">Her pupil nodded fervently. “Of course! It won’t happen again, Miss Beatrice.” She looked down at the book in her hands, and then back up again. “D’you know if his chest really does look that nice?”</p>
<p class="p1">Startled, Beatrice could only think to blink for a few moments before she regained her faculties. “I beg your pardon?”</p>
<p class="p1">Rowan was blushing once more. “Oh. I mean, this one <em>is</em> supposed to be about your boyfriend, and all.”</p>
<p class="p1">It was Beatrice’s turn to blush now. “He is nothing of the sort!” She frowned. “Not that any of this is your business, I have to say.”</p>
<p class="p1">“He’s not?” Rowan tucked the book back into her satchel. “Vita’s been asking about him.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice did her best to look imperious, though she fear she was failing at it and might have simply looked pained. “You may tell Vita that he is far too busy, and likely far too old for her. She’s…” She counted on her fingers. “Nineteen?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Eighteen,” supplied Rowan.</p>
<p class="p1">“Precisely.” Beatrice crossed her arms once more. “Now, Rowan, please think about what I’ve said. I want you to do <em>well</em> on your exams this winter, so that you might be able to attend university in Prakra.” She smiled as gently as she could. “Save the penny dreadfuls for after school hours, perhaps?”</p>
<p class="p1">Rowan smiled, though she still clutched her satchel for dear life. “Promise, Miss Beatrice.”</p>
<p class="p1">With her last pupil of the day thus dismissed, Beatrice began to tidy the schoolroom, and collect her belongings, and idly wonder what Cora might prepare for dinner this evening. <em>Would Calum perhaps enjoy—</em></p>
<p class="p1">She stopped herself mid-thought. <em>Absolutely not.</em> She knew that Calum had his own work to tend to, and his own life, and his own worries, and she hadn’t properly invited him to dinner besides. She would simply hope to see him again at lunch next week, or perhaps suggest that Vissenta invite the twins for tea at the shop tomorrow…</p>
<p class="p1">She shook her head. This was all getting to be rather preposterous. With a businesslike flourish, she swirled her cloak over her shoulders and fastened the clasp before she collected her own satchel to go home.</p>
<p class="p1">“Beatrice, dear?”</p>
<p class="p1">As she passed by another classroom, she could hear her aunt call to her, and paused. She poked her head through the open doorway, smiling at Cora. “Yes?”</p>
<p class="p1">Cora was sitting at her desk, looking through a rather impressive stack of papers that she’d apparently fallen behind on grading. With a pang, Beatrice realized that she hadn’t been helping her aunt as much as usual, though Cora never complained, or even asked for her assistance. Her aunt peered up at her from behind her half-moon reading spectacles and smiled wearily. “Could you be a dear and find something at the market to bring home for dinner? I’m afraid I may not get around to cooking tonight.”</p>
<p class="p1">Creasing her brow, Beatrice stepped forward. “Are you certain you don’t wish for me to cook something? I know there’s plenty at the house to—“</p>
<p class="p1">“Beatrice, dear.” Cora was still smiling, but her gaze had sharpened considerably. “Don’t you go thinking I’ve forgotten about the fire you started the last time you tried to cook.”</p>
<p class="p1">Sheepishly, Beatrice smiled. “Kebabs and hummus it is, then.”</p>
<p class="p1">“That’s more like it.” With a final wave, Cora readjusted her glasses and looked back down at the papers before her. “I’ll be home by dark, don’t you worry about me.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Of course not.” But Beatrice always did worry, even when Cora insisted she shouldn’t. Still, she continued on, striding out of the classroom and out of the schoolhouse, filled with renewed purpose as she headed to the market.</p>
<p class="p1">The walk to the stall where she and Cora always got their favorite quick dinner was one Beatrice knew by heart, and still, she faltered along the way. She knew just where her traitorous feet wanted to take her, and she wanted to <em>resist</em> the detour, and she ought to have been able to resist it. Even so, she slowed, then came to a stop, and looked down at Bramble. “Well, old girl,” she said. “Do we?”</p>
<p class="p1">Bramble cocked her head up at Beatrice and twitched her nose. Beatrice had never known a rabbit to look so <em>judgmental</em> before, but the expression in those round eyes was certainly <em>not</em> Bramble’s most favorable. The rabbit lifted one ear and twitched it in the direction of the food stalls, almost haughtily.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice threw up her hands. “Oh, what do <em>you</em> know? You’re a <em>rabbit</em>.” And so, contrary to all her good sense, and even contrary to her own familiar’s good sense, she turned to walk in the opposite direction, towards a very particular bookseller tucked away in a more notorious alley around the back of the market.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice had a <em>most</em> enlightening evening of reading the night before. In fact, the material had been so engrossing that she’d burned down not one but <em>two</em> candles, and she was paying the price dearly this morning as she yawned and rubbed at her eyes in the back room of l’Étoile d’Or.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>The Elfin Balladeer</em> had, in fact, been a most informative little volume. She’d been quite surprised to find that within the hundred or so pages - of which there were plenty of scenes that made her blush, even on the third pass of reading - there was a great deal of folklore woven in to the narrative that gave her enough pause to make her go back and jot down notes. Of course, in the light of day, she was having a difficult time deciphering her own scrawl that she’d made by dim candlelight and in the throes of exhaustion.</p>
<p class="p1">Exhaustion and something else. Something that might have warranted a nice, long bath, but she couldn’t have suitably explained to Cora why she was drawing a bath well past the midnight hour.</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta pushed back the curtain and came to plop down across from her at the table. “Are you sure you don’t want any coffee? I know it’s not your preference, but I don’t think the tea is cutting it.”</p>
<p class="p1">“That is he—“ Beatrice yawned. “<em>Heresy</em>, Vissenta.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “I heard ‘yes, please, Vissenta, pour coffee down my throat, before I take a nap in the back room.’”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice smiled blearily. “If you insist.”</p>
<p class="p1">With a grunt, Vissenta stood back up to retrieve the coffee and the press pot, chatting away as she set the kettle to boil. “So what <em>is</em> this book you found with all the new information on the Folk? Dee and I have been combing the library and haven’t found a single thing. She told me that most of those stories are oral tradition, but even copying down the songs that Grier knows haven’t given us much to go on.” She poured steaming water over the ground coffee in the pot and sat it in front of Beatrice, along with a cup, a pitcher of cream, and the sugar bowl.</p>
<p class="p1">After a few minutes, Beatrice gently pressed the plunger of the pot down and poured a cup, liberally altered with sugar and cream until it was too pale to even truly be called coffee anymore. She took a sip and sighed. “Whoever this Louisa Schreiber might be, she knows an awful lot of specific information about the fae.” She shook her head. “I mean, she might be making it all up wholesale, but I could only know that for certain if I could ask her.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta raised an eyebrow. “You have a Schreiber to go on? Which one is this?”</p>
<p class="p1">Reluctantly, Beatrice slid the book across the table. When Vissenta skimmed over the first few pages and cackled with delight, she resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. “What on earth possesses someone to write novels about real people like this?”</p>
<p class="p1">Her employer simply shook her head. “Oh, sweetheart, you should have seen some of the trash that was written when Julian was still a fugitive.” She passed the book back to Beatrice. “Actually, I got my hands on a few of them. I keep them around whenever I need a good laugh.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Vissenta!” Beatrice would have continued, but the shop’s bell tinkled as someone walked in. “Oh, we’ll be right with you!”</p>
<p class="p1">“Don’t bother, it’s just me.” The curtain was pulled back to reveal the now-familiar and smiling face of Calum McPhee. “I know it’s not our usual place for lunch, but…”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta looked from Calum to Beatrice, a wicked grin on her face. “I’ll go fetch something to eat from upstairs,” she said, throwing Beatrice a none-too-subtle wink as she pushed up from her seat.</p>
<p class="p1">And with that, they were alone.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice stared into her coffee cup assiduously, suddenly very interested in the pale brown hue of the lukewarm beverage. She was so focused on not looking at Calum, in fact, that she nearly didn’t notice when he sat down and picked up the book from the table.</p>
<p class="p1">“Well now, what’s this?”</p>
<p class="p1">She nearly dropped her coffee into her lap. “Oh! It’s nothing, absolutely nothing, just a book I, ah…” She fumbled for the words, settling on a half-truth. “A book I confiscated from a pupil yesterday. Something she ought not have been reading.” She reached for the book. “I can take it back now, if you please.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, I do <em>not</em> please.” Calum grinned at her and opened the novel, his blue eyes glittering with delight, and she felt her stomach sink even as her heart fluttered at the memory of every single simpering description of the male lead’s own blue eyes. There had been comparisons to the sky, to the sea, and even one peculiar comparison to a breed of cat that Beatrice found rather off-putting. On the whole, none of those descriptions had done justice to the eyes that were looking into hers now, with all their mischief and beauty that set her face aflame.</p>
<p class="p1">He paused after a few pages, clearly coming upon something that he found distasteful. “Oh, for feck’s sake,” he grumbled.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice buried her face in her hands. “What?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum slapped at the open book. “Who’s writing this? We don’t all talk like that.”</p>
<p class="p1">Forgetting herself for a moment, Beatrice let out a laugh that was halfway between a snort and a bout of hysteria. “You what?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum waved the book around. “Whoever’s writing this dialogue clearly wants to make all of the mountain-dwellers sound like we’re all wee fairies, prancing about and dropping consonants from our speech and saying ‘aye’ every other word.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice thought she might actually burst into uncontrollable giggles, now. “I’m sorry, you… you what?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I said what I said.” Calum was still reading the book, his brow furrowed, and he lapsed into silence. “Ah. I… I see.”</p>
<p class="p1">This time, Beatrice did manage to collect herself enough to lean over and snatch the book from his hands. “I’m so sorry you had to see that.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Stop apologizing, Beatrice.” The way Calum said her name always gave her a small thrill, but none so much as the thrill it gave her now, when he was so close and so… so red-faced over whatever he’d just looked at in the book she was holding. “I swear, I’m going to start keeping count of all your unnecessary apologies.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice clutched at the book. “I do not apologize <em>that</em> often!”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum huffed out a breath, smiling. “By my count, you’re at ten, at least.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice frowned. “Oh, you’re just making that up.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.” With a brisk nod, Calum focused once more on the book in her hands. “So, is that book supposed to be about me?”</p>
<p class="p1">Her face was burning again. “It’s, ah… apparently a rather common occurrence.” She sat the book down as carefully as she could, avoiding touching it now as if it were a smoldering coal from the fire. “But I found some fascinating information about the folklore of your mountains, and I thought it might help to take notes.”</p>
<p class="p1">When she finally met Calum’s eyes again, she saw that he’d gone quite serious, his gaze intent on her. If she had to choose a poorly-constructed simile to describe it, she’d say that his eyes burned like sapphires lit by candlelight, for all the dark hue they’d taken on all of a sudden. He considered her for a long moment before speaking again. “You read… all of it?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice folded her hands together, unsure of what else she could do with them. She was sorely tempted to let her hair fall in front of her face, but she’d twisted the whole mass of it up into a precarious bun that was held in place only by a single pencil, and she’d have to actually shake it forward if she wanted to hide behind her tresses now. Instead, she leveled her gaze back at Calum, hoping she could at least look sure of herself, even as she knew she’d wandered out into wholly uncharted territory. “I did. Three times.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum leaned back and let out a low whistle. “Three, eh?” He crossed his arms. “From what I could see, that’s three fairly unsatisfying rounds of…” He paused, his own cheeks going pink. “Well, you know.”</p>
<p class="p1"><em>What would Vissenta do? </em>It was the first thought to cross Beatrice’s mind, with <em>where is Vissenta, actually</em> being the second. She blinked to banish that second thought and instead concentrated on the first. “Are you saying that miss…” She tapped the cover of the book. “Miss Louisa Schreiber was not flattering in her portrayal of…” Oh dear. Now her cheeks were burning, too. Nothing to do but soldier onward, though. “The way a young man from the mountains might… please a lady?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum’s eyes had certainly gone dark now, but not dark in a way that made Beatrice want to hide or cower. No, they were dark with something else, something that she hadn’t seen before but seemed to simply <em>know</em> was a gaze that carried on it the weight of desire. He gently tapped the fingers of one hand on his forearm, studying her face, before he took a deep breath. “She was not,” he said, voice low, and Beatrice couldn’t help but notice that the gentle lilt of his voice had deepened, as if he’d forgotten himself a bit and slipped back into a brogue that one could only hear in a distant place like Balochry.</p>
<p class="p1">She sat up as straight as she could, eyes as steady as she could manage, and nodded. “And how would you suggest such a scene be written?”</p>
<p class="p1">He tilted his head, slightly, as he looked at her, as if he were suddenly a bit uncertain of how to proceed, uncertain of whether this was territory they should traverse. He was still tapping his arm with his fingers as he furrowed his brow. “Well…” He trailed off, but his lips were still parted, as if he were thinking on how exactly to proceed, and had cut himself off mid-sentence.</p>
<p class="p1">With her heart thudding in her chest, and her knees feeling so weak that she was glad to still be seated, Beatrice straightened as much as she could before she lost her nerve. “I’d like to know, in the interest of scientific inquiry.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Hm.” A ghost a smile played at the corners of Calum’s lips. “You do have a curious mind, don’t you?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Quite.” Beatrice took a deep breath. “Well? Mister McPhee, I’m waiting to be enlightened.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum finally shifted to lean forward in his seat, still a fair distance away from Beatrice, all things considered, and she considered the fact that this was perhaps in the best interests of everyone involved. He propped himself up with his elbows on his knees, hands folded in front, his fingers just barely interlaced, as he continued to look at her. “Well, you see, Miss Viano, the first thing this elfin balladeer prick does wrong is he doesn’t bother with kissing.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice resisted the urge to bite her lip. “Kissing? Surely that’s not so exciting. I’ve seen my pupils dare one another to do it in the schoolyard.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum shook his head. “Oh, no, not that kind of kissing.” He licked his lips, and Beatrice was transfixed by the tip of his tongue as he did so. “See, kissing, that’s the most intimate way to get to know someone, don’t you think?”</p>
<p class="p1">Her throat felt dry. She swallowed as best she could. “Not according to the Firentian Firebrand novels.”</p>
<p class="p1">The laugh that sounded from the back of his throat was low, almost <em>wicked</em>, and Beatrice shuddered. “No, not according to your piss-poor writer, there,” Calum agreed. “But when I’m getting close to someone, I like to take my time.” His eyes weren’t moving from hers, now and she couldn’t tear her gaze away. “When you kiss someone, you’re feeling them for the first time. Tasting them. Breathing in and out with them, really.” He raised one hand to his mouth, tracing his bottom lip with his index finger. “Feeling someone else’s lips, right there…” His tongue darted out once more. “Feeling when they let you inside, when they open up to you…”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice couldn’t stop looking at his fingers. They were long, slim, strong, and judging from the way she’d seen him play, they were more than nimble. She could think of quite a few uses for his fingers, if she let herself. And the trouble was, at the moment, she was <em>absolutely</em> letting herself.</p>
<p class="p1">Calum continued. “And then, of course, I much prefer to touch as much as I can.” He raised one eyebrow, lowering his hand once again, now lightly rubbing the fingertips against the knuckles of his other hand. “Always such a waste, when a man lets his cock lead the way, when there’s much better ways to <em>feel</em> the other person.”</p>
<p class="p1">She couldn’t even feel embarrassed at the word “cock,” not with the way he was looking at her. The look in his eyes was filthier than any profanity he might have uttered, in this moment, and the way he let his hands move, the way he made sure that she could <em>see</em> the way he moved them, made Beatrice feel more debauched than any <em>words</em> might have.</p>
<p class="p1">Or so she thought.</p>
<p class="p1">“I like to touch, Beatrice.” Calum’s brogue was certainly thicker now, and she felt a shiver down her spine at the way his voice had gone gravelly besides. “I like to run my hands over every inch of skin I can, and kiss my way behind them. Taste what they’ve been touching.” His hands stopped their steady rubbing motions, and he was bringing the tips of the fingers of his right hand up to his mouth once more. “And when I’ve made someone come, I like to taste that, too.” He ran his fingers over his bottom lip, gently licked them, and when he peered up at Beatrice from beneath long dark lashes, his blue eyes had gone nearly black. “Does that satisfy your curiosity?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice took a deep, shuddering breath. “You… you could say that.”</p>
<p class="p1">There was a loud knocking on the wall just outside of the back room, and they both practically jumped from their seats. “Found it!” Vissenta pushed aside the curtain, a tray in her hands, with an array of meats, cheeses, olives, pickles, and crusty bread spread on its surface. “Hope you like charcuterie, Calum. It’s the only thing I know how to make.”</p>
<p class="p1">The spell broken, Beatrice did her best to smile up at Vissenta as if nothing untoward had happened whatsoever. Because, of course, <em>nothing</em> untoward had happened. She’d merely asked a question in the name of <em>science</em>, after all, something purely academic in order to see just how <em>accurate</em> the rest of the contents of this vexing little volume could be. “That looks wonderful, Vissenta.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum leaned back, his gaze lingering on Beatrice for a moment longer before he turned to answer. “Oh, I should be going. Didn’t mean to drop in like I did.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Pfft.” Vissenta waved her hands. “No trouble at all, and you know it.” She sat down and popped an olive into her mouth, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Besides, I thought you’d both like to know that I drew up a little tracking spell to find our mysterious Louisa Schreiber.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Agus n'fheadar liom, cad a thiocfaidh orm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Vissenta held up the book in her hands as the trio made their way through Goldgrave, on their way to the South End, led onward by the spell she’d worked. The book wasn’t <em>The Elfin Balladeer</em>, thank the gods, but rather another volume penned by this mysterious Louisa Schreiber. Calum could see its embossed title from where he walked behind Vissenta and Beatrice, a few respectable paces away. <em>To Love A Fugitive.</em></p>
<p class="p1">“You mean to say that there are books about Julian, too?” Beatrice was wholly engrossed in the magic at Vissenta’s fingertips, where the other woman had her hands braced along the edges so her thumbs and index fingers rested on the book’s cover in the shape of a triangle.</p>
<p class="p1">“Out of print,” Vissenta replied absently. “It’s a shame. I’ve got four of the five, and they’re all absolutely ridiculous. I’ve heard that the last one has a <em>very</em> interesting scene at the end, though, and I’m always looking for more… ideas.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Vissenta!” Beatrice gasped and peered over her shoulder at Calum for a split second, as if she wanted to laugh with him at her friend’s crass comments, but as soon as her eyes met his, she turned bright red and whipped her head back to face forward. She cleared her throat. “You’re certain we can find her this way?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, absolutely.” Vissenta wove around a knot of people walking in the opposite direction, a woman on a single-minded mission, the book still held aloft. “Did I ever tell you about how I found Julian at the Rowdy Raven the first time?”</p>
<p class="p1">As Vissenta continued to chatter on and Beatrice continued to pay very specific and intense attention to her, Calum found himself at a loss for why, exactly, he was coming along.</p>
<p class="p1">Not to mention at a loss for how he could ever look Beatrice in the eye again.</p>
<p class="p1">He kept telling himself that she <em>had</em> asked him a question. He was merely being polite and helpful and <em>answering</em> that question, as it had clearly been in the interest of mere curiosity, rather than a need to know exactly what he’d do if he had some time alone with her. Some <em>truly</em> private time, preferably with a locked door, so no one could interrupt him as he showed Beatrice exactly how much he liked to touch and how much he’d like to touch her.</p>
<p class="p1">Blinking, he shook his head and stared at the ground as he followed. He still struggled to believe that she could actually want him. Beatrice was a proper lady, after all. She’d told him as much, in bits and pieces, over the past week of their acquaintance. The past week of their <em>friendship</em>, really, because he thought of her as more than mere acquaintance by now.</p>
<p class="p1">He didn’t want to make his <em>acquaintances</em> smile and laugh, for starters.</p>
<p class="p1">Her face grew more… closed-off, he noticed. As the three of them went deeper into the South End, he could see Beatrice’s mouth set in a prim line, and her eyes dart around with the same sense of unease he’d seen on his da’s face when he’d gone out hunting with him on a hillside a world away. Beatrice looked as if she might turn tail and flee at any moment, as if <em>she</em> were the rabbit, and not the familiar hopping bundle of fur that traipsed along at the hem of her cloak.</p>
<p class="p1">Calum was overcome with the sudden urge to reach for Beatrice’s hand and give her fingers a squeeze, to let her know that things were all right, and that if anything were to happen, he was here beside her. Of course, he couldn’t do that, not now. Not after what he’d told her he also liked to do with his hands.</p>
<p class="p1">If he could just touch her without feeling like… like <em>this</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">His train of thought was interrupted as Vissenta came to an abrupt stop, and he nearly barreled into her. “This is it,” she said, pointing at a modest little lean-to of a house at the end of the street.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice frowned. “Cathleen MacCaulay's house?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta nudged her with her elbow. “You mean you <em>know</em> her?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice shook her head, finally able to look at Calum for more than a moment as she glanced between both of her companions. “Not very well. But even when I was a girl, she was the elderly woman you never wanted to cross.” She shuddered. “She had the meanest old cat that would take a swipe at you from the gate, if you came too close.”</p>
<p class="p1">They all stared at the old, but well-maintained, wooden gate in front of the small square of dirt that served as the lean-to’s front yard. Calum shrugged. “Well, at least there’s no cat there now.”</p>
<p class="p1">Nodding, Vissenta marched forward to push the gate open. “Come on, Beatrice. If she was old two decades ago, she’s ancient now, and she definitely can’t hurt us.”</p>
<p class="p1">Unfortunately, while Vissenta did have a talent for prognostication, this talent did not extend to predicting the behavior of reclusive old women.</p>
<p class="p1">“What?!” The door swung open beneath Vissenta’s rapping knuckles, and before them stood a stout older woman, white-haired and scowling, brandishing a broom in both hands. She took a swing at Vissenta’s knees with the bristled end. “Scat! Out of my doorway!”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta stumbled backwards, caught midair by Beatrice and Calum on either side of her. “I beg your <em>pardon</em>!” She pushed herself away from their hands, brandishing the book in her own hands. “Ma’am, I am <em>pregnant</em>!”</p>
<p class="p1">“So?” Cathleen MacCaulay, as the mysterious Louisa Schreiber was apparently truly known, gave Vissenta another swat with the broom. “Doesn’t take any special talent to get that way, I don’t see why I should give you special treatment.” She caught sight of the book in Vissenta’s hands. “Oh no. Oh no no no. I do not do autographs.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta squared her stance at the second onslaught of old miss MacCaulay’s broom and stood her ground. “We have some questions for you.”</p>
<p class="p1">When the older woman finally looked up at Vissenta’s companions, her eyes went wide. She locked her gaze on Calum, and he could see her eyes travel up slightly to rest at the white streak along his hairline. “Oh… shit.”</p>
<p class="p1">He raised an eyebrow. “Oh shit is right.”</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Cathleen MacCaulay, known to the Vesuvian public as Louisa Schreiber, did not look like the sort of woman who wrote dirty books. Then again, Calum supposed he wasn’t sure what someone who writes dirty books should actually look like. She was perfectly plain, clad in a simple dress like any other older woman one might pass in the market, and her white hair was cropped close to her head. She looked every inch the grousing old lady who the neighborhood children might call a mean old witch, though shockingly spry, if she was truly as old as Beatrice said.</p>
<p class="p1">She pressed her hand to her forehead as she muttered and puttered about the tiny single room, one that held apparently all of her worldly possessions, including a round wooden table more suited to a single occupant. “Don’t have a lot of chairs,” she said, shoving a stool over to the table, and then a wooden box. Pursing her lips, she gestured at the lone proper chair and cut a glare at Vissenta. “For the pregnant.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta snorted, but she sat down, and soon Beatrice followed suit on the stool next to her. There wasn’t enough space around the table for Calum to sit as far away from Beatrice as would have been appropriate. When he gingerly perched on the crate that served as the third seat, he felt his knee brushing up against hers, and he clenched his hands into fists along his thighs. <em>First her shoulders, now her knees. I’m losing it.</em></p>
<p class="p1">Actually, he’d fully lost it if he thought anything could be normal between he and Beatrice again, after what he pulled.</p>
<p class="p1">Thankfully, he didn’t have too much time to think about Beatrice’s knees or shoulders or the way she was peering up at him from beneath her lashes, because he was jostled from behind by Cathleen. “So, what’re your questions?” She plunked down on Calum’s other side, squinting at him shrewdly. “You know, there’s no real <em>legal</em> recourse here.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Not our concern.” Vissenta drummed her fingers on the tabletop. “How do you know so much about the Folk?”</p>
<p class="p1">Cathleen blinked owlishly. “How do I what?”</p>
<p class="p1">“The Folk,” Beatrice added, folding her hands together in front of her. Her cheeks turned pink again as she looked at Calum. “There were quite a few details about how they might be…” She frowned, a small line appearing between her brows, and Calum was overcome with the irrational urge to reach over and smooth that line with his thumb. “Banished. Defeated, as it were.”</p>
<p class="p1">Cathleen raised one wiry gray eyebrow. “They’re just stories.”</p>
<p class="p1">“MacCaulay,” Calum said.</p>
<p class="p1">Everyone turned to look at him. “Yes?” Cathleen leaned forward. “That is, in fact, my name.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum tapped a rhythm on his knee, lost in thought for a moment. “There’s some MacCaulays in another village. A day’s ride up the ridge, maybe.” He looked back up to see three pairs of eyes on him, two of those pairs expectant, and one wary. “Are you from Keanestown?”</p>
<p class="p1">Cathleen shook her head. “Born right here.” However, she relaxed a little, leaned back to look at Calum with an even cannier expression. “But my gran was.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta nodded slowly. “And she told you the stories?”</p>
<p class="p1">Cathleen shrugged. “It’s what we do. I was just the first one to get smart and write ‘em down, make a quick copper.”</p>
<p class="p1">“The iron,” Beatrice interrupted. She leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table, now, and she was looking at Cathleen with renewed intensity. “Is cold iron the only thing that can defeat them?”</p>
<p class="p1">The old woman snorted and turned to look at Calum. “What’s she on about? Is this one addlepated?” She waved one finger around in a circle next to her temple, giving Beatrice a sidelong glance as she did so.</p>
<p class="p1">Calum stiffened, knitting his brows together, and clenched his fists beneath the table once more. “She’s brilliant,” he replied, a little surprised at the hard edge of his own voice. He heard Beatrice draw in a small, sharp breath beside him. “So if you could, answer her question, please.”</p>
<p class="p1">He was met with another wide-eyed, blinking stare from Cathleen, but she nodded. “Well, sure, then.” She began to count on her fingers. “There’s cold iron, salt, rowan wands, running water—“</p>
<p class="p1">“Running water,” Beatrice mused. She nodded, her eyes not focused on Cathleen at all, and Calum could practically see something turning in her mind. When she looked up again, she caught him staring, and to his chagrin, he found that <em>he</em> was the one turning red and looking away. He looked down at the grain of the wood of the table, instead, tapping his fingers once more, as Beatrice continued. “And the animal forms of the man in their service?”</p>
<p class="p1">“An old story,” came the reply. Cathleen stood to put on a kettle to boil, though she didn’t offer a single cup to any of her guests. “If your love holds on to you even as you change forms, by the time you’re human again, the curse is lifted.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice cleared her throat. “Your… love. Ah.” She shifted in her seat, and Calum felt her pulling her knee away from his as much as the cramped space would allow. “Of course.”</p>
<p class="p1">With a cup of a rather nasty-smelling tea in hand, Cathleen took her seat once more. “What’s all the interest in the Folk, then?” She snorted as she pursed her lips to blow on the steaming liquid. “You got a fae curse to lift?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta snapped her fingers, and Calum was more than a little shocked to see Cathleen’s face briefly go slack, her eyes momentarily blank and her mouth hanging open for about thirty seconds before she shook her head and scowled. “What’s this? Who are you lot? What are you doing in my house?” She sat down her tea and stood, reaching for the broom in the corner.</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, thank you so <em>very</em> much for telling me all about <em>To Love A Fugitive</em>!” Vissenta smiled brightly and held up the book she’d used to track the old woman down. “It’s a shame I can’t find a copy of <em>A Doctor’s Delight</em> anywhere these days.”</p>
<p class="p1">Cathleen’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, but before long she smoothed her countenance as much as the lines on her face would allow. “Oh, is that what this is? Well.” She pointed at Calum. “You, boy. Up off the crate.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum was still staring at the exchange before him, bemused, but Beatrice’s knee gently nudging his had him standing up like a shot. “Of course.”</p>
<p class="p1">Their mysterious, grouchy author lifted the lid from the crate and rummaged around, digging down to the bottom until she found the prize she’d been looking for. “Here you go,” she said, tossing a book onto the table before Vissenta. “No use letting it just sit around here.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta grinned, sharp as a blade, and snatched the volume up. “Oh, you are <em>too</em> kind.”</p>
<p class="p1">Only when they left did Beatrice admonish Vissenta. “That was most certainly <em>not</em> an ethical use of a persuasion charm!” She frowned. “And I don’t even know where you learned a memory spell. I thought that sort of magic was forbidden.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I won’t tell if you won’t.” Vissenta clutched the two books to her chest and looked up at Calum. “What’s this I hear about a concert at the palace tonight?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum cursed softly in Gàidhlig. “I’m going to be late to practice,” he muttered. He ran a hand through his hair and looked at Beatrice, forcing himself to hold her gaze. “Will I see you there?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice smiled up at him, shyly but warmly. “I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice wouldn’t miss the performance, but Calum was starting to wonder if he might miss it. He couldn’t focus for more than a few minutes at a time, long enough to go through most of a song, as Grier irritably scowled at him every time he faltered in his rhythm.</p>
<p class="p1">“Gods alive, Cal.” His sister let go of her banjolin, pushing it aside so it hung from its strap on her hip. “What’s gotten into you?”</p>
<p class="p1">He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier crossed her arms. “Are you sure?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum nodded. “Positive.” He looked up and twirled the bodhran tipper around in his fingers. He tried for a winning, easy smile, but Grier was still frowning down at him, her lips pursed in a moue of discontent. “What?”</p>
<p class="p1">She narrowed her eyes. “This doesn’t have anything to do with a certain magician, does it?”</p>
<p class="p1">He tried to laugh, tried to shrug it off, he really did, but there was no fooling his own twin. He leaned back in his chair and stared up at the vaulted ceiling of the performance hall. “Is it really that obvious?”</p>
<p class="p1">“To <em>everyone</em>.” Grier tilted her head. “Well, except maybe Beatrice.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum ran a hand over his face and groaned. “Might be pretty obvious to her by now.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, <em>Calum</em>.” His sister sighed and marched into the wings stage left, and when she returned, she was dragging a chair behind her. She sat down in front of him, carefully swinging her instrument up into her lap. “You didn’t do something stupid, did you?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum looked through his fingers, still staring up at the ceiling. “Depends on your definition of stupid.” He sighed. “If I told you that she <em>asked</em> me something and I just <em>answered</em> her, would you call that stupid?”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier made a face. “Please don’t tell me what she asked you or what you told her.” She plucked at her banjolin strings idly, twisting her mouth to one side in thought. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, here, and say it wasn’t as stupid as you think it was.”</p>
<p class="p1">Rolling his shoulders, Calum finally tilted his chin back down to look at Grier. “I’m fit to burst, Rie. I don’t know what it is.” His knee jiggled up and down, thumping against the skin of the bodhran in his lap. “I just keep… <em>augh.</em>”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier grinned broadly. “Oh, I know what it is.” She nudged Calum’s foot with her own, then stood back up. “You <em>like</em> her.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum snorted. “Please talk to me like I’m adult, Rie.”</p>
<p class="p1">She shook her head. “Nope. You <em>liiiiiiike</em> her.” She started to strum. “You wanna <em>kiiiiiiss</em> her.” Shetapped her heel to the tune she’d begun, and she started to sing. “Bhuel de thug mé cos ar an siúlóid mhór…”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Calum raised his voice to try and drown out his sister’s singing, but she kept going, and he rolled his eyes. “Fine. <em>Maybe</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">Only then did Grier stop, though she continued to strum. “I’d say she’s too good for you, but since she seems to like you too…” She laughed. “I question her good taste.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum threw the tipper at Grier, who swung around to dodge the stick, which fell to the stage with a clatter. He huffed and stood, crossing the stage in a few strides to retrieve the carved piece of wood, and used it to point at his sister. “If we do Cailín na Gaillimhe, then I’m singing it.”</p>
<p class="p1">Grier smirked. “Singing it to <em>Beeeeeeeatrice</em>.” She laughed, starting the song again, and bounced on the balls of her feet as Calum began to sing.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">He did sing it for her, though.</p>
<p class="p1">Nadia and Deirdra had invited the whole of Vesuvia, or so it seemed, though Calum supposed that such a thing would actually be impossible, even within the sweeping, grand scope of the performance hall. He’d wondered, as people began to file in, if he might be able to spot Beatrice in the crowd. He tapped his toes, twirled the tipper, and peered around the deep red curtain.</p>
<p class="p1">“You sure you don’t want a little something to drink?” Grier came up behind him, a glass in her hand, and she tilted it toward him. “You heard Deirdra. Good for the nerves.”</p>
<p class="p1">“It’s not nerves,” Calum muttered, still staring out into the audience.</p>
<p class="p1">“Of course it’s not.” Grier downed the rest of the wine and strode out to the center of the stage.</p>
<p class="p1">Calum followed and took his seat, happy to at least have something to do with his hands now as Grier began to play without further preamble. His eyes wandered some more, searching, looking for that familiar green hue, until he remembered: she wouldn’t be wearing the cloak inside.</p>
<p class="p1">In fact, when his eyes did find her, she was in white.</p>
<p class="p1">The sight made him stutter in his rhythm, not enough for the average audience member to tell, but enough for Grier to turn and cock an eyebrow at him with a knowing smile. He shook his head, slipping back in time, and Grier turned back around to begin singing. And as she sang… he looked out.</p>
<p class="p1">Deirdra must have put Beatrice and Vissenta in the front row on purpose, and he fervently, secretly thanked her for it. The lamps that served as footlights cast a soft, warm glow on Beatrice’s upturned face, and she was smiling as she watched Grier sing. He could see now that she wasn’t entirely in white: she had on some sort of blouse, flowing and fine, with sleeves bedecked in lace and frills he might have thought looked absurd on anyone else, but on Beatrice…</p>
<p class="p1">His eyes wandered lower to the wide purple sash at her waist, wrapped around in such a way that all he could think about was how he could <em>un</em>wrap it, and unwrap the voluminous skirt below. He shifted in his seat, glad that he held a drum squarely in the middle of his lap.</p>
<p class="p1">Then, Beatrice shifted her gaze towards him.</p>
<p class="p1">He could tell that she was watching his hands. There was something to the flush that rose in her face, the light in her eyes, the way her smiling lips parted slightly, and even beneath the modest, respectable neckline of her blouse, he could see the way her chest rose and fell just a bit more than before.</p>
<p class="p1">She was thinking about his <em>hands</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">He supposed it was fair, since he’d been thinking about how he’d like to use his hands to unfasten her blouse.</p>
<p class="p1">He nearly missed the end of the song, and kept playing long after Grier had finished, but he recovered quickly enough and nodded up at Grier to signal that he wished to sing. Grier cut her eyes towards Beatrice and gave him a sly smile as she nodded back, moving smoothly into the song, and after a few bars, Calum began to sing.</p>
<p class="p1">The rapturous expression on Beatrice’s face as she watched him was almost too much. He couldn’t help but grin at her as he sang, not caring who might notice. The song itself wasn’t in the common tongue - he preferred it in Gàidhlig, for several reasons, one of which being that if he sang about kissing a lovely girl in a language Beatrice might understand, he certainly wouldn’t be able to finish the song without bursting into flames on the spot - but from the way Beatrice looked at him as he sang the words, sang the story, he wondered if perhaps she could tell what he was singing about regardless.</p>
<p class="p1">Well, let her. He’d happily imagine what she was thinking of.</p>
<p class="p2"> </p>
<p class="p1">The performance was a resounding success, and Calum found himself and Grier swept up in a flurry of praise, and questions about their instruments, and offers aplenty to make purchases and special commissions. There were words that passed through his mind like water, with only the occasional phrase taking hold, and never for very long. He couldn’t listen. He couldn’t pretend to <em>care</em> right now. No, his eyes were sweeping the hall, seeking out the white and purple he’d been admiring all evening.</p>
<p class="p1">Finally, Grier elbowed him. “Pay attention,” she hissed, and he snapped his head back to nod absently at the simpering nobleman who stood before them. He’d have time to see Beatrice at the small dinner the countesses arranged, he knew it, but he didn’t want to wait til then. His mind wandered once more, even as he shook another hand and answered another question and gave another rote utterance of thanks beneath the onslaught of admiration.</p>
<p class="p1">When the crowd dissipated, Calum practically raced out of the performance hall without a single care for whether Grier was behind him or not. He actually rather hoped she <em>wasn’t</em> too close behind. He could do without her teasing if he did manage to find Beatrice.</p>
<p class="p1">He wandered down the corridor, craning his neck to peer above the thinning crowd, and frowned. He thought he’d surely find Beatrice out here somewhere, and he didn’t look forward to searching an entire palace just to get a word in before dinner.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>The library</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">The thought sprang into his mind, clear as if the words had been spoken aloud, because of course this was the obvious answer. He smiled to himself, filled once more with resolve, and turned a corner to make his way to what he knew was Beatrice’s favorite room.</p>
<p class="p1">The library doors, usually locked shut, were standing slightly open this time, and Calum slipped through. He stopped for a moment, taken aback by the sheer <em>size</em> of the room. Everything in this palace was grand, yes, but a room so full of books as this one was…</p>
<p class="p1">Books were never a common thing back home, even though his da insisted that he and Grier learn how to read as soon as they were able, and even then, books were often precious things. Family histories and the like. To have a room lined with books of all kinds was more than he could put into words.</p>
<p class="p1">He spied Beatrice standing by a shelf, an open book in her hand, and he walked toward her. “Beatrice,” he whispered, suddenly very certain that in a room such as this one, keeping one’s voice low was paramount.</p>
<p class="p1">She started, nearly dropping the book, and pressed a hand to her chest when she saw him. “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum stopped a respectable distance away from her, and he smiled, in spite of his heart threatening to burst forth from his ribcage. “Eleven.”</p>
<p class="p1">There was that little vertical line between Beatrice’s eyebrows again, and he wanted to touch it, wanted to kiss it. “Eleven?” Her look of bewilderment lasted for just a moment longer before she blinked and smiled, shaking her head. “Oh. Eleven apologies.” She peered up at him. “Might I ask why you’re keeping count?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum shrugged and folded his arms as he tried his hardest to keep from reaching out to her. “To annoy you, maybe?”</p>
<p class="p1">Her smile widened, and they fell into that easy camaraderie once more, even if he still thought he might do something utterly reckless if he spent another minute alone with her. She carefully closed the book in her hands and placed it back in its spot on the shelf. “I’m a teacher, Calum.” When she turned back to face him, she was just a few inches closer. “You’ll have to do more to annoy me.”</p>
<p class="p1">He licked his lips and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Beatrice… maybe I should be the one saying sorry to you.”</p>
<p class="p1">She frowned. “Whatever for?” She tilted her head as she looked at him, and he thought about how easy it would be to step forward, tilt his own head, lean down toward her…</p>
<p class="p1"><em>For feck’s sake, breathe, you idiot.</em> He did his best to follow his own advice, but the breath was loud, and the exhale was shaky. “For what I said. This afternoon.” He couldn’t meet her eyes, now. “It wasn’t… appropriate.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice’s cheeks colored. “Ah. Well…” She bit her lip. “As I said before, I was asking in the name of scientific inquiry.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum couldn’t help his snort of laughter. “What sort of science are you teaching in that school, then?”</p>
<p class="p1">When he finally met her shining hazel eyes, he could see that she’d leaned closer by a fraction of an inch. “Biology?”</p>
<p class="p1">Oh, he was being outclassed here. <em>He,</em> Calum Alexander McPhee, known in Balochry, Macawi Port, and at least five other villages in the Clouded Mountains for being the last man you’d want to leave alone with your daughter or son, was quickly losing his hold on this conversation, outmatched by a demure, smiling, <em>proper lady</em> of a schoolteacher. He shook his head. “Beatrice…”</p>
<p class="p1">“Calum.”</p>
<p class="p1">The way she said his name made him feel as if he might catch fire. “It’s not a good idea, Beatrice.” He folded his arms once more, clutching at his own biceps to keep from reaching for her. “You know about Grier’s end of the deal, but do you know what it gave me?”</p>
<p class="p1">She stepped back, bringing one hand up to her mouth as she thought. “Goodness. I hadn’t even considered that.”</p>
<p class="p1">He felt so pained, suddenly, looking down at her, looking at the way her face had grown so concerned, aching to see the tilt of her brows now as those eyes of hers went from glittering to glistening. “I don’t know it for sure,” he began, awkwardly. “But it might be that…” He sighed and stared up at the ceiling, just to avoid looking too deeply into Beatrice’s eyes. “Anything you might… <em>think</em> of me… might not be all your own feelings.” He rocked back on his heels a bit. “Apparently I might be a bit more persuasive than usual.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Hm.” He could see Beatrice at the edge of his vision, shaking her head. “That certainly sounds like a theory, but I’d prefer to see more empirical evidence to support it.”</p>
<p class="p1">He looked back down. “You what?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice’s eyes were still shining, but Calum had the feeling that this was a different sort of light. She tilted her head forward once more, and her eyes were trained on his lips. “I don’t know if we can truly deem this a fact without the proper testing.”</p>
<p class="p1">Oh.</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Oh</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">Well, he’d certainly not been mistaken at her intent this afternoon.</p>
<p class="p1">He uncrossed his arms and reached one hand out to rest lightly on the billowing fabric covering Beatrice’s shoulder. “So you think I should…” He stepped closer.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice nodded. “Yes. I believe you should.”</p>
<p class="p1">No turning back now.</p>
<p class="p1">Her lips were so soft beneath his, and he could feel her smiling, just a little, as she leaned forward and let her hands rest lightly on his chest. He imagined she could feel how his heart was racing, positioned like that, and when he brought one hand up to cup her cheek, his fingertips brushed at the soft, rapid fluttering of her own pulse. He pulled back. “Was this the evidence you needed?”</p>
<p class="p1">She blinked up at him, still smiling, and shook her head slightly. “I’m afraid all good experiments require more rigorous testing,” she said softly. “Perhaps you should…”</p>
<p class="p1">“Mm. Perhaps I should.” It was Calum’s turn to smile, now, and he leaned forward to kiss her again.</p>
<p class="p1">This time, he could feel her lips part, and he traced her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. She gasped into him, pressing herself closer, and her hands moved up from resting on his chest to clutch lightly, so lightly, at his collar. When her tongue met his, he couldn’t help the groan in the back of his throat, and he tilted his head while using his hand on her cheek to guide her with him to deepen the kiss further.</p>
<p class="p1">His other hand was still on her shoulder, and all he could think of was slipping that hand beneath the neckline of her blouse, but he absolutely would not push his luck. Not so soon. Not when he was finally actually kissing Beatrice.</p>
<p class="p1">But then, her own hand moved down, and she ran her fingers delicately along the line of his collarbone, first over his shirt, and then beneath the open collar.</p>
<p class="p1">Well then.</p>
<p class="p1">When he slid his hand up to gently push back the light, loose fabric that covered her shoulder, she gasped again and pressed herself forward so her body was flush with his. His hand that had been at her cheek was in her hair now, fingers threaded through the loose brown waves, and he felt her teeth graze his bottom lip. He ran his right hand down from her shoulder to her back, pressing his palm against her warm, smooth skin, and he tried his very best to not lift her up to take her right then and there against the shelf.</p>
<p class="p1">Of course, for all he was holding back, Beatrice seemed to want <em>exactly</em> that from him.</p>
<p class="p1">“Beatrice?”</p>
<p class="p1">Portia’s voice at the library door made the both of them freeze, and Beatrice stumbled back from Calum as she tugged her blouse back into place. “I’m still here, Portia, thank you.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Miladies said that dinner’s to start in five minutes, and that if you could find Calum, to let him know as well.” There was a barely-suppressed laugh in Portia’s voice, and Calum wanted to bite down on his fist in exasperation. It <em>was</em> obvious, then.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice smoothed her skirt. “I’ll find him presently! And I don’t mind locking up behind me, Portia, thank you.”</p>
<p class="p1">As Portia’s footsteps faded down the hall, Beatrice looked up at Calum and bit her lip. “Perhaps we should collect more evidence at another time.” And with that, she was on her way out the door, beckoning for him to follow.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Cover Me Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">He’d <em>kissed</em> her.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice was still in a daze as she went through the motions of eating her dinner. Calum had <em>kissed</em> her, and what’s more, he’d kissed her in the <em>library</em>, and in this exact moment, the last thing she could focus on was the bloody <em>soup</em> course. She simply spooned the chilled vichyssoise to her mouth, as delicately as she could manage, as her gaze kept flickering up to look at Calum’s mouth.</p>
<p class="p1">He was most decidedly not looking at her, or at her mouth.</p>
<p class="p1">She was altogether put out by this fact.</p>
<p class="p1">“Beatrice?”</p>
<p class="p1">She blinked and turned to Vissenta. “Yes?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta shifted in her seat. “I was just telling Dee and Nadia about what we discovered today.”</p>
<p class="p1">Deirdra leaned forward eagerly. “You met <em>the</em> Louisa Schreiber?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Cathleen MacCaulay,” Beatrice supplied. She looked back at Calum, who was now deep in his own conversation with Grier. His fingers were drumming on the tabletop, and she frowned, shaking her head, and tried to focus once more on the subject at hand. “She said that her grandmother was from a village in the same mountains, and that she grew up on stories of the Folk.”</p>
<p class="p1">“And?” Nadia tilted her head to look around her wife’s back and met Beatrice’s gaze. “Did she have any fresh insight on the problem at hand?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice nodded slowly. “She told us about things that can keep them away.” She began to tick off the list on her fingers. “Iron, rowan wood, salt, rushing water…”</p>
<p class="p1">“Sounds like we need to find the closest river and hope there’s a rowan tree nearby,” Vissenta quipped. “Can’t figure out the iron and the salt part, though.”</p>
<p class="p1">“The sea, perhaps?” Nadia tapped her lips with one manicured finger, then frowned. “Surely such natural elements cannot simply banish them. And what of Grier and Calum?”</p>
<p class="p1">The twins looked up at the sound of their names. “What about us?” Grier folded her arms and rested her elbows on the table.</p>
<p class="p1">“We want to keep you safe,” Deirdra replied. She picked up her water glass and swirled it around. “I’m just not entirely certain of how we might.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice stared at Deirdra’s hand as the countess moved her glass. She stared at the whirling motion that the water inside made, and she could feel something forming at the edge of her mind. She reached into her pocket - thank goodness she’d taken to sewing pockets into all of her skirts and dresses, or she would be in a right fix every time she had a good idea - and withdrew one of her self-refilling pens. She ran the cap over her lips as she picked apart the mental tangle, bit by bit.</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta caught sight of her stare. “Oh, I think Beatrice is onto something,” she murmured.</p>
<p class="p1">“Onto what?” Grier frowned. “She hasn’t said anything.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Shush.” Vissenta signaled Portia, who stood by the door. “Pasha, could you please fetch some paper? I’d hate to have to buy Nadi and Dee a new tablecloth.”</p>
<p class="p1">When Beatrice let her eyes wander, she was drawn automatically to Calum. <em>Oh for goodness’ — wait.</em> Any frustration with herself for getting distracted by Calum was immediately replaced with curiosity as she watched him sit back in his chair and begin to spin the short drumstick that he carried around at, apparently, all times. She pursed her lips and furrowed her brow.</p>
<p class="p1">Portia suddenly reappeared over her shoulder and she started. “Oh! Thank you.” She took the small sheaf of paper and carefully moved her soup bowl.</p>
<p class="p1">Then, she stared into the empty bowl.</p>
<p class="p1">Her gaze flicked back up to Calum’s hand, and the twirling stick.</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Water wheel.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">In an instant, she had the pen uncapped and was drawing on the paper in broad strokes, mumbling all the while. “If we construct a self-contained whirlpool, with a raised platform at the center, and bring in salt water to fill the basin…” Her voice grew louder, as she grew more certain, and more excited, and the drawing became more detailed. “Perhaps not fully from rowan wood, as I know the tree isn’t indigenous to the Vesuvian forests, but we could still construct a horizontal wheel that will move the water around them.” She slid the first sheet of paper aside and began to sketch on a fresh one, making annotations this time in neat, small print. “It would at least keep the Folk at bay and buy us time to try as many of the banishment and binding spells as we know.” She looked up at Vissenta, finally, and gestured with her pen. “They might not be the Devil, but it sounds like iron chains will burn them just as horribly.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta was beaming at her and nudging Deirdra with her elbow. “Look at this. Where was she when we got dragged down to hell the first time?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Hiding with Cora the moment Lucio appeared in the ballroom,” Beatrice replied absently, her focus once more on her diagram.</p>
<p class="p1">“Most sensible of you,” Nadia said. By now, she was standing behind Beatrice, watching as she sketched, and leaned over her shoulder to point at the crudely-drawn paddles on the wheel. “Even my reach has limits, but I could certainly find a way to import enough rowan wood to construct at least these parts of the wheel.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice looked up at the countess and smiled. “Oh, that would be wonderful!” She replaced the cap on her pen with a small flourish and grinned broadly at the wide eyes around the table. “I do so love when a plan comes together.”</p>
<p class="p1">When she met Calum’s eyes, he blinked, but rather than look away from her as he’d done since they both emerged from the library earlier in the evening, his face broke into a grin. There was something in his eyes, she could tell, but she was afraid that if she contemplated what it might be for too long, she’d actually arrive at the answer, and that this answer would fluster her beyond belief. “Brilliant,” he said softly.</p>
<p class="p1">“She <em>is</em>.” Vissenta gave her arm a pat.</p>
<p class="p1">It was Deirdra’s turn to frown pensively, now. “I do wish we could think of a way to draw the Folk here before the appointed hour,” she mused. “The harvest festival is in three weeks, and I can’t think of a place we could set this device that would be abandoned enough to avoid putting innocent lives in danger.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Bang pots and pans together?” Vissenta looked at the twins. “I don’t know, is that how it’s done? Say ‘oh, it would be such a shame if an evil fairy queen came for me right now’ and hope for the best?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I mean—“ Calum began to scoff, but was interrupted by Grier.</p>
<p class="p1">“I know a way,” she said softly.</p>
<p class="p1">All eyes were on Grier, suddenly, and she faltered. Her bottom lip quivered briefly, but she straightened her spine and looked around. “I know a song.”</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">There was a plan, and Beatrice loved nothing more than a well-defined, well-outlined plan.</p>
<p class="p1">Nadia assured her that construction would begin swiftly and promptly on the wheel, but she couldn’t resist paying visits to the palace every afternoon when school was dismissed. This was to check on the wheel’s progress, of course. She was certainly not trying to run into Calum in the palace halls. That would be a preposterous notion, especially as he’d clearly become too busy to come to take lunch with her. Why should he have the sort of leisure time to go milling about the palace for her to find?</p>
<p class="p1">Still, that sort of <em>hope</em> never left her anytime she stopped by the library on her way down from the contemplation tower.</p>
<p class="p1">There was logic to Calum’s sudden absence, his sudden disappearance from her day-to-day. After the performance earlier in the week, she knew that he and Grier had immediately been commissioned to craft instruments for more than a handful of the nobility. While she herself might not have been able to focus - after all, she could hardly focus <em>now</em>, and she had plenty of her own tasks and responsibilities at hand - she supposed that Calum might be the sort of man who was dedicated to his work.</p>
<p class="p1">Or dedicated to distracting himself.</p>
<p class="p1">Gods, <em>she</em> wanted to distract him instead.</p>
<p class="p1">Five days after that night - the night of the concert, the night of the plan, the night of the <em>kiss</em> - that were also five days without hearing from Calum whatsoever, she did what she knew she had to do.</p>
<p class="p1">She went to see Vissenta.</p>
<p class="p1">To her great surprise, when she opened the door of the shop, Deirdra and Nadia were at the counter. For once, Nadia looked a smidge disheveled, her usually smooth and shiny coiffure swept up into a messy bun, and smudges of some sort of grease on her hands. But her eyes were bright, and she was smiling wide, and Deirdra was gazing up at her adoringly as Vissenta leaned over the counter to listen.</p>
<p class="p1">The three of them turned when the door opened. “Beatrice!” Deirdra swept forward to pull her into an embrace. “Beatrice, darling, we’ve done it!”</p>
<p class="p1">“You’ve what?” Beatrice pulled back to look at Deirdra, then at Nadia and Vissenta. “You’ve done what?”</p>
<p class="p1">“The wheel,” Nadia said. “The construction is complete, and Deirdra was able to make it spin today. We’ve already begun to move everything to the garden fountain in preparation for tomorrow.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice felt her mouth go dry. “To… tomorrow?”</p>
<p class="p1">Nodding, Vissenta pulled down a book from one of the shelves behind the counter. “I was going to come for you in the morning. If we can get it working again, there’s no time to waste.”</p>
<p class="p1">Dazed, Beatrice nodded slowly. “Tomorrow.”</p>
<p class="p1">“We’re saving the world again, ladies.” Vissenta winced suddenly and rubbed at her lower back. “Oh, fine, you’re saving the world too,” she grumbled at her belly, rubbing it on the side where she must have just felt a particularly strong kick.</p>
<p class="p1">“Not the whole world, thank goodness.” Deirdra took Nadia’s grease-smudged hands and squeezed. “But enough of our world, I think.”</p>
<p class="p1">It was all so much, and so sudden. Beatrice nodded along as the other three chattered and looked through Vissenta’s various spell books, offering up an occasional suggestion or correction, passing over a pen when Vissenta looked for something to take notes. All she could think of was that one word: <em>tomorrow</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">Well, she certainly had no time to waste, then.</p>
<p class="p1">Still, she was uncertain. When the countesses departed, she fell into her habit of making a pot of tea. “Would you like chamomile, Vissenta?”</p>
<p class="p1">“I’d like a glass of wine,” Vissenta muttered. “But chamomile is fine, too.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice nodded and scooped the dried leaves and buds into the pot. She nearly forgot her whole reason for coming to the shop, so engrossed was she in the ritual at hand. But a cough from Vissenta brought her back to reality, and she looked up from where her hands were busy arranging cups and honey and lemon. “I’m so sorry,” she said, and the words made her think of Calum telling her that he would count her unnecessary apologies, and she felt as if something had tightened around her heart. “That is to say… Vissenta, I was hoping to ask your advice.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Terrible idea.” Vissenta took the cup that Beatrice offered her and poured a generous dollop of honey into it. “But by all means, ask away.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice sweetened her own tea and squeezed a slice of lemon over it. “The night of the concert. I…” She felt her face go hot. “Calum and I—“</p>
<p class="p1">“Had sex?”</p>
<p class="p1">She started. “<em>No</em>!” She knew that her face was fully red by now, and she could hardly meet Vissenta’s eyes. “Gods, Vissenta, we just <em>kissed</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">As she sipped her tea, Vissenta sighed. “Boring.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. It’s not boring. It’s very exciting. I’m just…” She waved a hand. “You know.” Squinting, she cocked her head at Beatrice. “Do you… <em>want</em> to have sex with him?”</p>
<p class="p1">There was no use denying it. Beatrice nodded. “It sounds so very <em>crude</em> when you put it that way.”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta reached over to pat her hand. “Fine. You want him to make sweet, sweet love to you, and say sweet nothings in that <em>delicious</em> accent of his, and you haven’t been able to figure out how to make that happen.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice let her head fall forward into her hands. “Has anyone told you, Vissenta, that you are unusually direct?”</p>
<p class="p1">“All the time.”</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Oh, this is pointless.</em> She stood abruptly, turning to retrieve her cloak from the hook on the wall. “Perhaps I should go home,” she began.</p>
<p class="p1">“Or perhaps you should go to the palace,” Vissenta countered.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice paused halfway through fastening the clasp on the cloak. “I should what?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta shrugged and sipped her tea. “Everything could change tomorrow. We don’t know what will happen.” She raised an eyebrow. “Trust me. I can tell you from experience that you’ll never regret a nice round of last-night-on-earth fu…” She cleared her throat. “<em>Love-making</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">“I can…” Beatrice slowly hooked the cloak’s clasp together. “I can just go to him?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh for gods’ sake.” With some effort, Vissenta stood, and she rounded the table to lay her hands on Beatrice’s shoulders. “I know you dress like a nun, sweetheart, but you can’t let that make you <em>behave</em> like one.” Snapping her fingers and humming decisively, she pushed the curtain of the back room aside to dive behind the shop counter. She returned with a small glass vial and pressed it into Beatrice’s hand. “Drink this now. Just in case.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice held up the vial to the soft glow of the lamp. “Just in case?”</p>
<p class="p1">Vissenta pointed to her belly. “Do you want one of these right now?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice blanched. “Oh.” She unstoppered the vial and tossed the liquid inside back, making a face as she did so. She delicately wiped her lips and handed it back to Vissenta, who was grinning ear to ear. “Well. I suppose I should… go, then.”</p>
<p class="p1">Grinning, Vissenta practically shoved her out the door.</p>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/>
<p class="p1"> </p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice took the scenic route to the palace. She wouldn’t say she was <em>nervous</em>, not exactly.</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Oh, that’s a lie.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">Still, taking a longer route allowed her time to think and to take deep breaths as she considered what she might do. <em>How</em> she might do it. After all, Calum’s conspicuous absence could very well be that he <em>didn’t</em> want to go any further with her than a kiss in the library that was best forgotten. He very well might have forgotten about the kiss already. He hadn’t told her much about <em>that</em> aspect of his past, but from what she could tell, he’d been in quite high demand even before arriving in Vesuvia. Gods knew, if he was as good with his hands as he appeared to be, he might be in high demand <em>now</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">Oh, <em>no.</em> What if she went to find him and there was someone else with him? She nearly stopped in her tracks and turned right back around to go home, but then she thought of the potion she’d drunk. There was no use <em>wasting</em> what was clearly a precious commodity for Vissenta. Right?</p>
<p class="p1">She knew a secret entrance to the gardens, one Vissenta had shown her months ago when they’d gone to dinner at Portia’s cottage on the grounds. She’d yet to actually visit the building where she knew Calum’s workshop to be, but she’d seen it from the tower window more than once, seen him walking in one afternoon, and she had a feeling that when she arrived, there would be a lamp burning.</p>
<p class="p1">She was right.</p>
<p class="p1">It was a modest place, nestled in a place where the trees and shrubbery had been allowed to grow a little wild. She couldn’t see anything of Calum in the window, but she did see the glow of a small fire. With one final deep, deep breath, she stood at the door, and she knocked.</p>
<p class="p1">She couldn’t have waited for more than five seconds, but the seconds were long enough in her mind to make her wonder if perhaps she ought to flee, and she was halfway through the process when the door opened and Calum stood before her.</p>
<p class="p1">Oh, he was more handsome than he’d been in her mind’s eye for the past five days.</p>
<p class="p1">Calum looked down at her with mild surprise, and something else, something Beatrice couldn’t quite figure out. “I… Beatrice?”</p>
<p class="p1">She ducked her head. “Oh, I’m sorry, I—“</p>
<p class="p1">“Twelve.”</p>
<p class="p1">She looked up. “What?” In spite of her nerves, she began to laugh. “Was that truly unnecessary?”</p>
<p class="p1">At the sound of her laugh, Calum’s face relaxed into a smile. “Unless you’ve come here with bad news, I’d say it was.” He stepped back, giving her ample room to enter, and suddenly he looked… nervous? It was so hard for her to tell, so busy was she looking at the quirk of his lips again, and thinking about how those lips had fit over hers.</p>
<p class="p1">When he shifted on his feet slightly, she started. “Oh! Yes. Right. S—“ She stopped short and caught his eye and she laughed again. “So.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Clever.” Calum shut the door behind her and turned back to face her, rubbing at the back of his hair in a way that she’d grown to know so well, and grown to find enormously endearing. “Would you… like a drink?”</p>
<p class="p1">Fervently, Beatrice nodded. “Oh, please.”</p>
<p class="p1">He didn’t have proper wineglasses, but he did have wine, and he did have mugs, and so he uncorked the half-drunk bottle on the table against the wall and poured them each a drink. Beatrice took hers gratefully and held it up. “Cheers, I suppose?”</p>
<p class="p1">“Sláinte.” Calum raised his mug and took a long drink, immediately reaching for the bottle to top off his cup. “So what brings you, ah… here?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice took a much slower sip. “Well, I…” She racked her brain for an appropriate response, one that wouldn’t sound too dull, one that might make her sound alluring. Irresistible. Like a woman he’d want to kiss again. “I wanted to see what you’ve been working on.”</p>
<p class="p1">
  <em>Wonderful. Really hit the mark there, Beatrice.</em>
</p>
<p class="p1">Calum flashed her a grin. “Oh, nothing so exciting as magical enchanted water wheels.” He crossed the room to his workbench, sitting his cup down and picking up a curious thing that looked like two spoons joined at the handles. “Drums, mostly, but every once in a while I like to make some of these. For old time’s sake.” He tapped the spoons against his palm and they clacked together. “One of the first things ma taught me to make. Probably so I’d stop making such a racket playing them all the time while she was trying to work.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice smiled and took another sip. “Now, that would certainly annoy me more than the counting.”</p>
<p class="p1">The look Calum gave her made her shiver, all of a sudden. His gaze was unwavering, and serious, and he looked at her as if there was something he’d wanted to say for days.</p>
<p class="p1">Of course, that shouldn’t have been surprising. She’d had some things she wanted to say for days, too.</p>
<p class="p1">She looked into her mug. “So. About—“</p>
<p class="p1">“The library,” Calum finished. He sat down, still on the opposite side of the room, and looked at her as he took another drink. “Beatrice, I—“</p>
<p class="p1">“I came to a conclusion,” Beatrice interrupted. The wine was making some sort of warmth bloom in her chest, and thank the gods, it was helping to loosen her tongue just enough. “The experiment, you see.”</p>
<p class="p1">This earned a raised eyebrow from Calum. “The… experiment.”</p>
<p class="p1">She nodded. “Yes.” She finished the cup of wine, and began to wave the mug about expressively as she continued her train of thought. “I have <em>concluded…</em>” She couldn’t help herself; a giggle slipped out. “I have concluded, Calum, that I am quite a powerful magician.” She paused. “Well, a passably decent one. But a magician nonetheless.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum was looking at her with that irresistible mix of fascination and amusement and a third something, a something she had been able to plausibly deny for weeks now, but as he trained those blue eyes of his on her, Beatrice could see: it was <em>desire</em>. “You certainly are.”</p>
<p class="p1">Emboldened, she took a step closer, then another. She still had a whole room to cross, but a little at a time, that was what she’d have to do. “I have concluded that I surely must not be easily affected by whatever magic is over you.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh?” Calum stood. “And why is that?”</p>
<p class="p1">She was rooted to the spot, all of a sudden, unable to actually step forward once more. “I…” She took a breath.”If I were under some kind of, of… enchantment, from you… I would most certainly have been kissing you five minutes ago.”</p>
<p class="p1">An eternity must have passed after those words fell from her mouth. This was surely the logical amount of time to have gone by, and not merely <em>seconds</em>, not with the way she felt so <em>mortified</em>. Almost immediately she covered her face with her hands. “Oh, I am so sorry, Calum, that was—“</p>
<p class="p1">His hands were on hers, and they were moving her hands away from her face, and they were tilting her chin up. Those sky-blue eyes were on hers, and there was a smile behind them as he leaned forward to bring his lips to her ear. “Thirteen.”</p>
<p class="p1">“<em>Calum</em>!” All of Beatrice’s embarrassment lifted away like the tiny bubbles in the wine she’d just drunk, and she <em>snorted</em>, of all things. “Oh, goodness, that was…”</p>
<p class="p1">“Incredibly endearing,” Calum supplied. He was gazing into her eyes again, and she was mesmerized by how dark his lashes were against the light shade of his irises, and how long those lashes were, and how they cast small shadows on his cheek when he blinked. Those eyes crinkled up at the corners, now, as he smiled. “I think I know what I’d like to do with that number now.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Oh?” One of his hands was still beneath her chin, and the other, she noticed, was resting lightly on her lower back, gently guiding her closer. “I’m sorry to say that thirteen is <em>quite</em> an unlucky number.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Fourteen, then.” He smiled. “I think I’ll take fourteen kisses.” And with that, he leaned forward to rest his lips on hers.</p>
<p class="p1">The kiss was all too brief, in her opinion. As he pulled back, Beatrice bit her lip. “That was one.”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum nodded. “Your turn to keep count now, then?”</p>
<p class="p1">Her breath caught when he leaned down once more, not to kiss her lips, but to brush aside her hair and kiss her neck. “Two,” she whispered.</p>
<p class="p1">He was turning them both around and walking backward, guiding them both to another room that she’d hardly noticed before now. It was small, softly-lit, and was large enough for a bed and not much else. The sheets were rumpled, as if Calum had spent the night before here, and perhaps the night before that, and the night before that, which Beatrice supposed might have very well been true.</p>
<p class="p1">His hands were on her shoulders now, gently sliding down the scoop neck of her blouse to expose more skin. He let out a sigh as he dipped down to press his lips to her clavicle. “I’ve wanted to do that for weeks,” he murmured. Then, he looked up at her, a glint in his eyes. “How many is that now?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice had to recover her breathing capabilities for a moment before she could answer. “Th… three.” She felt the gentle scratch of the stubble on his cheek against the hollow of her throat as he traced the line of her collarbone with the tip of his tongue. “<em>Oh.</em> Is that… is that four?”</p>
<p class="p1">He shook his head, but then kissed the curve her shoulder. “There’s four.” He tilted his head up to her. “Should I continue?”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice nodded. “I’m not sure where you learned mathematics, Calum, but you have ten more.”</p>
<p class="p1">He nodded, a grin threatening to burst forth from his attempt at a solemn expression. “Of course. Ten more.”</p>
<p class="p1">He might have been able to push her neckline past her shoulders, but the buttons at the blouse’s front were threatening to pop free if he tried to slide it down any further. Beatrice nodded fervently when his fingers hovered uncertainly over the buttons. “Please,” she said, her voice coming out stronger than she felt at the moment.</p>
<p class="p1">Those <em>hands</em> of his. Fingers so nimble, and so sure, as they gently tugged the fabric-covered buttons free of the loops holding them in place. Palms so remarkably warm, and callused in a way that only heightened the sensation of the way they skimmed over the tops of her breasts when he pushed her open shirt aside. Hands so gentle, yet so <em>firm</em> as they rested at her waist.</p>
<p class="p1">She was fully exposed now, but she didn’t want to cover herself with her hands, not as she’d done with the few and far between lovers she’d had before. How could she cover herself when he was looking at her with such a rapturous expression? Calum was in <em>awe </em>as he drank in the sight of her, and she felt warmth bloom in her chest, and the warmth kindled to a bright fire when he leaned down to kiss the tip of her left breast. “F-fi-aaaaah…” She couldn’t finish the word as he ran his tongue over the peak of her nipple.</p>
<p class="p1">He repeated the motion at her right, gently circling his thumb where his lips had just left. Considerate of him, to make sure he didn’t leave that breast <em>neglected</em>, after all. Beatrice bit her lip and tried not to whimper. “Six,” she managed to gasp out, even as he drew his mouth back and blew a gentle stream of air over the moistened skin.</p>
<p class="p1">When he let go of her waist, she actually did make a small whining sound at the sudden absence of those <em>lovely</em> warm hands, but she was soon distracted by the sight of him shucking off his open vest and unbuttoning his own shirt. “Let’s keep things even, yeah?” He flashed her a crooked smile when he shrugged the shirt from his shoulders, and then his hands were back on her waist, and his lips were on hers, and she parted hers beneath his tongue as she ran her hands up his sides and around his back. As he deepened the kiss, she pulled him closer, feeling the tickling brush of the hair on his chest against her own smooth skin, and without a moment to think, she shifted her hips so that his leg was slotted between her thighs as much as her skirt would allow.</p>
<p class="p1">When they parted, panting, she remembered the <em>other</em> task at hand. “Seven,” she said, though she hadn’t the faintest notion how she would keep her mental faculties intact in order to count seven more.</p>
<p class="p1">His hands slid down to the belted sash at the top of her skirt, and he began to unwind it, letting his fingers brush each new inch of skin he exposed along the way. Abruptly, he knelt before her, his hands on her hips, and then those hands were sliding her skirt down to let it pool on the floor. He leaned forward to kiss just below her navel.</p>
<p class="p1">“Eight,” she whispered. When he moved forward, she stepped back, and the backs of her knees met the edge of the bed, and she sat down.</p>
<p class="p1">Calum knelt before her, cast in glowing amber light and warm shadows, and now she <em>knew</em> that the look in his eyes was one of desire, and that desire was for <em>her</em>, and her thighs were open. But he wasn’t done yet.</p>
<p class="p1">He had six to go.</p>
<p class="p1">She lost sight of those dark curls for just a moment as he ducked further, and she felt a kiss at her ankle. “Nine,” she said. When he kissed the other, she felt her heart begin to race even more, if such a thing were possible. “Ten.”</p>
<p class="p1">He kissed the inside of her knee, next, and then the other. “Eleven. Twelve.” She knew where this was going, and she was <em>quite</em> done with the counting, thank you very much, but there was also some sort of thrill to it, something to the <em>anticipation</em>, and then he was running his hands up along her inner thighs.</p>
<p class="p1">Just as he’d told her days ago, he followed the path of his hands with his tongue, stopping at the very tops of her thighs, right there at the crease, to gently press his lips to her skin once more. “Thirteen,” she whispered.</p>
<p class="p1">He repeated the motion on the other side. He looked up at her expectantly, his mouth still frustratingly just to the side of where she truly wanted it, and raised his eyebrows in a smile. “Fourteen,” he supplied.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice was breathing so deeply now, and she knew her whole body was flushed, and she tentatively reached forward to brush at the curl of white at his temple. “Should I apologize again, just to have fifteen?”</p>
<p class="p1">She watched his eyes slide shut as he took his own deep, shuddering breath. His hands gripped her hips, fingertips pressed into her skin, and when he opened his eyes again to gaze up at her, they’d gone from sky to cerulean. “Beatrice,” he said softly, and she felt his warm breath tickling the curls at her center.</p>
<p class="p1">Her hand was still in his hair, and she threaded her fingers through the locks at the back of his head, tentative, unsure. “Calum, please,” she said. “I want you.”</p>
<p class="p1">And then he kissed her once more.</p>
<p class="p1">She soon let go of his hair, gasping, leaning back on the bed as she opened her thighs further to him. If his lips had felt wonderful on her shoulder, on her breast, on her knee, they felt <em>incomparable</em>now, with the way they <em>caressed</em> her. When he ran his tongue along the slick, sensitive skin just inside, tracing his way up, up, she thought she might melt into the bedclothes. “Calum,” she said once more, her voice low and shaking. “Calum, your… your <em>hands</em>.”</p>
<p class="p1">She could feel the ghost of a smile on his lips against her, and when she felt one of those strong, slender fingers tease the same path of his tongue before slipping inside of her, she actually did fall back to her elbows with a small cry. He slowly withdrew his finger, and then pressed back in, beginning a slow rhythm, and he ran the flat of his tongue against her clit. When she cried out once more, he moaned into her, opening his mouth further, adding a second finger as she tilted her hips upward. “Gods, Beatrice,” he whispered. “Beatrice, you taste so… <em>fuck</em>.” Apparently unable to resist the taste of her for more than a few seconds, he lapped at the growing slickness around his fingers, teased her clit, pressed his lips down to briefly suck as he crooked his fingers forward. His other hand found hers on the mattress, and he laced his fingers in hers, and she held on tight as he stroked, and sucked, and sighed again in apparent bliss.</p>
<p class="p1">“<em>Calum</em>.” His name fell from her lips as a quiet cry, and she gripped his hand as her hips bucked, and her thighs twitched, and she closed her eyes as she came, whispering his name over and over, hearing him groan with every repetition.</p>
<p class="p1">He was on his feet, and he was leaning over her, and he was cupping her face and kissing her as she tried to catch her breath. He was also still wearing <em>trousers</em>, for gods’ sake, and she couldn’t wait any longer. She reached up to put an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer, and her other hand was at the fastenings at his waist. She fumbled a bit with the buttons, smiling into his kiss as he laughed. “Need a hand, love?”</p>
<p class="p1"><em>Oh</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">But the word must have been something else for him, or perhaps he was simply better at <em>using</em> such words, because he was unbuttoning his trousers and guiding her properly up onto the bed, even as she was staring at him with wide eyes. He paused, a small crease of concern on his forehead. “Beatrice? Beatrice, is this all right?”</p>
<p class="p1">She blinked and smiled. “It’s perfect, Calum.” Gods, she loved the way he said her name, and she hoped that repeating his name was enough to let him know, because she loved to say <em>his</em> name. She pushed up on her elbows to meet his lips with hers again, and threaded her fingers through his hair to pull him down to her. A thought crossed her mind, suddenly, and she couldn’t help but laugh softly against his mouth.</p>
<p class="p1">Calum broke the kiss and smiled down at her, his gaze soft and adoring. “What?”</p>
<p class="p1">She could hardly look at him, not unless she wanted to laugh even harder. “Biology,” she finally said, and put the fingers of her free hand over her eyes. She peeked through them after a few moments, biting back the laughter bubbling up in her throat.</p>
<p class="p1">He was still giving her that <em>look</em>, the one that said that <em>word</em> he’d just dropped so casually to refer to her, and he was smiling and gently moving her hand from her face. “That laugh,” he murmured as he kissed her fingers, still holding himself over her, propped up on his elbows, still so close and yet so far away. “I’ll do anything to hear that laugh.”</p>
<p class="p1">She took a deep breath and smiled. “I’m not sure laughter is the appropriate sound at this very moment.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Well sure it is.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “No use being so serious all the time in bed. Makes it dull.” As he leaned closer, she could feel the hard length of him against her hip. “But if you’d like, I can try to find another sound.”</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice shifted her hips and opened her thighs, and he was close, he was so closer to her, he was nearly as close as he possibly could be. “Yes,” she whispered.</p>
<p class="p1">He lowered himself, running his tongue along her lower lip as he carefully pressed his hips forward, and she tilted up to meet him, and then—</p>
<p class="p1">Calum’s soft groan against her mouth sent that warmth flooding through her again, and he gently, shallowly thrust forward, just barely, and she gasped, drawing in a breath as he exhaled, and oh, it was more than she could have <em>imagined</em>, in those lone nights when she only had herself and her wandering thoughts. He was warm, and real, and as he gradually deepened his strokes until he was fully seated inside of her, she felt the words slip on her next breath, into his own. “Calum, I—“</p>
<p class="p1">He slanted his mouth over hers, swallowing the word before it could be spoken aloud, and his hips rolled again, and one of his hands slid down to lift her hips. She bent her knees, wrapped one calf around his lower back, and moaned suddenly at how the change in angle meant he was stroking her <em>just</em> so, and she rocked to meet him as he continued to kiss her.</p>
<p class="p1">She felt the pressure mounting again, and his hand moved from her hip to where they were joined, and he dipped his fingers to stroke her, teasing the sensitive bud until she was shaking again, she was gasping, and she tilted her head back to cry his name as she came again.</p>
<p class="p1">Just before he reached his own climax, he pulled out, spilling onto her lower belly as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. His breaths were deep and panting and warm against her skin, and she could feel the hum of her own name from his lips.</p>
<p class="p1">They lay there for a moment, silent but for their breathing, and finally, Calum pushed back up to look into her eyes. “Let me get something to—“ He stopped short when Beatrice swiped her fingers through the spend on her hip, and he groaned when she brought them up to her mouth and sucked them clean. “Oh, <em>fuck</em>, Beatrice.”</p>
<p class="p1">She smiled and sighed. “You enjoyed tasting me. It’s only fair, you know.”</p>
<p class="p1">“Depends on your definition of <em>fair</em>.” He settled down beside her, arranging them both so that his arms were wrapped around her, and she was nestled in his arms with her head at his chest, and his nose was buried in the hair at her crown. “Beatrice. What you… what you were going to say.”</p>
<p class="p1">Oh no. She tensed, but she could feel Calum stroking the length of her spine, and she did her best to relax into him once more. She looked up, gazing into his eyes, and saw that they were still… soft. Affectionate. And now, concerned. “What was I going to say?”</p>
<p class="p1">He ran his fingers through her hair, cupped her face, stroked her lips with his thumb. “Not tonight. I…” He sighed, then smiled. “I don’t know what’s going to happen. But tomorrow night…”</p>
<p class="p1">Right. <em>Tomorrow</em>.</p>
<p class="p1">Beatrice lay her head back down against his chest, running her hand lightly across the dusting of dark hair that went down his sternum. “Tomorrow night?”</p>
<p class="p1">Calum took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “If we make it through tomorrow night, I’ll say it to you every day.”</p>
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